Marvel and Magic
by Magda the Magpie
Summary: Each chapter is a new drabble or short fic for the Marvelously Magical facebook group challenges, which will all consist of crossovers between the MCU and HPU. Notes at the beginning of each chapter will give you the summary and pairing and rating.
1. Countdown

**Summary: Sam and Pansy walk into a Hydra base...**

 **Written for the May Roll-a-Drabble challenge at Marvelously Magical Fanfiction**  
 **I rolled Sam Wilson / Pansy Parkinson / Soulmates**  
 **Word Count Limit: 100 to 1000**

* * *

Sam didn't like thinking there was such a thing as Fate, that everything was already written in advance, that he had no say in the matter, no free will. He knew most people felt they were "blessed" with a soulmate countdown. Right there on their wrists where the pulse beat strong, where anyone could see it, but Sam did not. Sam hated it.

It was only made worse when the countdown left little to no time to meet his supposed soulmate, because he was standing in front of a Hydra base with Steve.

"With my luck, she's a Hydra agent with a face like Red Skull," he muttered.

"Uh?" Steve inquired, not taking his eyes off the guards patrolling the perimeter, counting how long it took them to disappear around the corner again. Sam waited for him to finish, then thrust his wrist under his nose. Steve knew. They knew everything about each other. Spending as much time as they did together on the road to chase after a ghost would do that to you.

"Oh," Steve agreed, but true to himself, tried to soften the blow. "Maybe she's a prisoner?"

"That isn't much better. Imagine they did to her what they did to Bucky."

"Maybe she's delivering pizzas?"

"In the middle of the desert?" Sam sighed, knowing a lost cause when he saw it. "Let's just get this over with."

Pansy had been crushed when Draco had discovered her soulmate countdown and broken up with her - because he didn't have one, but she didn't care! She loved him! Had _always_ loved only him. What did she care about a so-called soulmate she had never laid eyes on? She had managed to hide it so well until then too, but Draco had tossed her aside for a _Greengrass_ , of all things.

In retaliation, Pansy had decided to accept any assignment from the Ministry that would get her as far away from the happy couple as possible. And if she still held on to the secret hope that Draco would see the errors of his way and come begging back for her… well, no one needed to know that.

Her assignment was to gather information on a group of muggle Death-Eaters called Hydra and assess how much danger they could be to the wizarding world. Her boss had snidely commented that she was perfect for the job, never mind that she had just been a kid during the war. She was, in fact, nailing this job, but only because they were mere muggles. Such boring, easy to manipulate, frail people… but at least this base was proving to be interesting.

Not as interesting as Draco, of course, with his perfect ivory skin, and long, silky, platinum hair and-

"What the hell are you doing here?" demanded a man as he grabbed her wrist in a bruising grip.

That's what she got for letting her mind wander, she hadn't even noticed her disillusionment charm had worn off. Pansy smiled sweetly at her assailant and stupefied him with her wand aimed under his belt. He fell with a dull thud while she massaged her wrist, and froze in shock when she noticed how low the countdown was. Any minute now… Was she doomed to have a Death-Eater muggle as her soulmate? No fucking way. She deserved better. She _wanted_ Draco. She was getting the hell out of there.

She was about to apparate when the one and only Captain America filled the corridor. He was even more impressive than she had imagined. One fine male specimen if she said so herself. Could he be…? No, that was idiotic. She knew from the extensive files Hydra kept that one of the reasons the man had been accepted into the Super Soldier program was his lack of a soulmate countdown. Of course the countdowns disappeared once their match was met, so that didn't mean he hadn't met his soulmate before he entered the program.

Pansy looked back down at her wrist, then up at Captain America who froze when he finally noticed her, then back down at her wrist.

10… 9… 8…

Sam walked right into Steve. Honest to God, it felt like walking into a brick wall. Admittedly, he was at fault for paying more attention to his wrist than his surroundings, which was stupid when they were infiltrating a Hydra base, but…

7… 6… 5…

Pansy didn't understand until the Captain looked behind him. He wasn't alone.

4… 3…

Sam rolled his eyes at Steve's shit eating grin. He knew something he didn't.

"Not Hydra, no pizza."

Sam's eyes grew wide with realization and he pushed Steve aside, not knowing why he was suddenly so anxious to see her, his soulmate. Maybe it was Steve's knowing grin, maybe just plain old curiosity.

2… 1…

Pansy's breath caught when a handsome dark stranger walked into view. He was… the polar opposite of Draco, was her first thought. Gorgeous, was her second. About to get shot, was her third and she lashed out at the Hydra agent sneaking up on them with the darkest curse she knew. Force of habit. No one needed to know, although the man's entrails splattered all over the wall was a bit of a giveaway.

"Perfect," Sam breathed out as he watched between the pretty brunette and the human jello sliding down the wall.

"Adequate," Pansy lied, because he was still a muggle and so far, he had done nothing to earn her respect, although the way he stared at her as if she had invented Sleekeazy was quite charming. But then he squashed all her doubts by sprouting wings to protect her from a stray bullet fired at their little gathering.

"Oh, just kiss already," Captain America sniped as he barreled passed them to flatten any other threat lurking in the shadows.


	2. Rainbows and Unicorns

**Summary:**

 **A frantic Draco is searching for his son at the amusement park. So is Phil. Sort of.**

 **Written for the June Roll-a-Drabble challenge at Marvelously Magical Fanfiction**  
 **I rolled Phil Coulson / Draco Malfoy / Family**  
 **Word Count Limit: 100 to 1000**

* * *

Phil waited for the frantic man in front of him to finish with his pleas to find his son. Listening to him, you'd think he'd lost the boy in the middle of a lion's den and not an amusement park. Besides, if he really looked anything like his father with his almost blond white hair and equally pale eyes and skin, he couldn't be all that hard to spot.

"This is a message for little Scorpius to please come to the entrance where your daddy is waiting for you."

Upon hearing the poor kid's name, Phil couldn't help a snort from escaping his lips, which he quickly turned into a cough. The frantic father narrowed his eyes at him before stepping aside for him to talk to the park attendant in charge of announcements. Phil gave both of them his most bland smile before asking for Clint to be called to the entrance as well. He'd warned his wayward agent not to be late for the meeting with Fury and he hadn't even showed up. He was going to make him do so much paperwork in retaliation, his fingers would be too cramped to shoot an arrow straight for a week. That ought to teach him.

"This is a message for little Clint to please come to the entrance where your daddy is waiting for you."

Phil rolled his eyes. Every. Single. Time. To add insult to injury, Clint was the one having fun with the daddy-jokes at his expense.

"You don't look too worried about your kid," Scorpius's father said reproachfully.

"It's not the first time the little scoundrel runs off," Phil said, unable to hide the note of annoyance from his voice.

He had better things to do than track down Clint. It was bad enough he had to keep Stark from experimenting his new gadgets on himself and Natasha from killing every man who dared look her way... Honestly, being a glorified babysitter for the Avengers wasn't all rainbows and unicorns.

The blond man pinched his lips as he scowled at him. It appeared he didn't appreciate his lack of care for a "child", which was admirable, really. Phil stared back at the other man. He shouldn't pry, but he just had to know what the father of a kid named Scorpius was called.

"I'm Phil," he said extending a hand, playing up his bland smile and the crinkles around his eyes. It never failed.

The other man looked uneasy but shook it once.

"Draco."

Phil had to bite the inside of his cheek. He desperately wanted to know more, but he couldn't fathom how to ask the man for the name of his father, grandfather and all of his ancestors before that. Draco… Phil sniggered despite the man looking so worried for his missing son. Being used to soothe frazzled nerves, the words came tumbling out of his mouth before he could think twice about it.

"I'm sure your son is fine. The average time a child gets lost in amusement parks is thirty minutes and he can't leave the park now that you have given his description. Chances that he gets seriously injured here are about 1 in 17 million. He's more likely to get hurt crossing the road once you exit the park. So you see, it'll be fine."

Draco seemed at a lost as to what to say, but his shoulders were not as tense as they had been a minute ago and he counted that as a victory.

"Ah. Here's mine," Phil said as Clint walked towards them with his tail between his legs and a huge stuffed toy under his arm.

"That's…" Draco trailed off, caught off guard by the muscular grown up when he'd been expecting no doubt a mini version of Phil.

"My underling who missed a very important meeting so he could win a giant unicorn apparently. You know that's cheating, by the way, Clint. I'm surprised you haven't been barred entrance from the parc yet."

Clint scoffed.

"This isn't Las Vegas, and I know for a fact the games are rigged, so it's not really cheating if they cheated first."

"Yes, you're all about defending the innocent," Phil sighed. "Speaking off, have you see a little boy that looks like my new friend Draco here while you were playing truant?"

Clint glanced at the pale man and nodded.

"Yeah, actually. Thought he was a little elfling for a moment there. He was right by the cotton candy booth that spins them in rainbow colours."

"Fetch him and I'll forgive you this once."

Clint nodded eagerly and pushed the unicorn plushie into his arms before running off, back only five minutes later with a giggling child on his shoulder who was waving a stick of cotton candy around.

"Papa!" Scorpius exclaimed and ran towards his father as soon as Clint put him down. "Look what Mr Clint got me. I'm eating a rainbow, papa!"

Draco sighed and kneeled in front of his son.

"I told you not to wander off, Scorpius. And you can't just follow strangers and accept candy from them," he added with an apologetic glance at Clint.

Phil grinned at the thought he now had ammunition of his own to tease the archer if he tried pulling one of his daddy jokes again.

"I don't know how to thank you," Draco said as he stood with his kid in his arms.

"You could take this eyesore far, far away from me," Phil replied with a toothy grin as he thrust the unicorn towards father and son.

Scorpius had his sticky hands all over it and Phil smiled wider when he heard Clint's moan of distress. "It was pleasure to meet you," he added as he pulled his wayward agent after him.

If Phil had stayed just a little longer, he would have seen the fluffy unicorn turn into a fire breathing dragon. That certainly would have made his day.


	3. Not Your Father

**Summary:**

 **For July, I rolled: Steve/Draco/Family**

 **Steve's new mission is to convince a reluctant wizard to join their team.**

Steve didn't mind going on a mission that didn't involve flinging his shield around or banging a few knuckleheads together. What he did mind was being sent to recruit someone who was clearly reluctant. The guy wanted to stay in prison rather than join their team for crying out loud!

And he wasn't even an American, so why the hell did he have to go wearing his Captain America uniform. No amount of patriotism was going to sway this Brit. Might have the opposite effect actually.

But orders were orders, and one thing he was good at was following them. Mostly. If they weren't too stupid.

"Here we are. Mind your step," his guide told him.

It was an underground prison dug into the rock itself of the Grand Canyon. It seemed a bit extreme, but was supposedly necessary to contain the magical humans, which were not the same thing as mutants, Asgardians or sorcerers he'd been told. The future just kept becoming more and more complicated. But at least it was cool down here. Nothing like the scorching heat above. The cells themselves were bare and dismal though, making normal prisons seem luxurious in comparison.

"Here's your guy," the guide said, as loquacious as ever.

Steve peered inside through the bars of the door and glimpsed a wraith of a man looking lost in thought. Steve cleared his throat as politely as possible, not wanting to startle the pale figure lest he break from the sudden movement.

"You again," he muttered when their eyes met with a wonderful accent that brought to mind a myriad of memories of his time with Peggy.

Steve smiled despite himself.

"I assure you this is our first meeting. Draco Malfoy, right? I'm-"

The prisoner snorted.

"Do you seriously think you need to introduce yourself? I doubt there's another bloke in the world wearing… that."

Steve looked down at his blue, red and white spandex uniform. He did have a point, and blamed this whole debacle on Fury.

"It's laundry day," he tried with a shrug, because humour was better than embarrassment, and always a good way to break the ice.

"A likely story," Draco said but there was a spark of fire back in his eyes at least. "But mine hasn't changed. I have no intention of joining your merry little band of do-gooders."

"You'd rather stay here? How do you not get bored to death?"

"Well, you could have brought me a book. But to answer your question, I'd rather stay here because I deserve to be here."

Steve's eyebrows rose, both at the unexpected answer and because Draco was opening up to him so quickly, when Fury had told him he was as tight lipped as a clam. His boss did have a tendency to rub people the wrong way though.

"Really? I was under the impression your own people back home exonerated you, and you're only locked up here because of an unfortunate tattoo."

"Unfortunate," Draco scoffed and rolled his sleeve up to reveal the tackiest tattoo in existence.

A snake slithering out of a skull? Really? It didn't even look special. He'd half expected it to move or something since it was such a big deal.

"It marks me as a Death Eater and Death Eaters deserve to be locked up. All of them. No exception. That's one thing you Yankees got right for once."

Steve looked at the young man in front of him. He hardly looked dangerous and seemed like a good sort. Weighed down by sadness and regrets… Steve could understand that. Whatever side of the war you fought on, there was loss, fear and destruction; orders you didn't want to obey and actions you weren't allowed to take out…

"You didn't want to be marked, did you?" Steve asked, following a hunch.

"My father was. I didn't have much choice, and if I refused, the Dark Lord would have taken it out on my mother. I've seen how he punished his followers…" he gulped and looked away. "I couldn't do that to her."

Steve nodded. Draco had just been a kid at the time too, and Steve would have probably done the same in his boots. Many people did all the time, that didn't mean they were bad people.

"The Malgrés-nous," Steve said.

"What?"

"That's what they called themselves. The Malgrés-nous. During the war, the second world war that is, some French soldiers were conscripted in the German army against their will. If they refused, their whole family were deported which was as good as a death sentence. Do you think all of those soldiers deserved to be imprisoned too?"

"It's not the same."

"Isn't it?"

"I'm a Malfoy. Everyone has told me I'm my father's son through and through ever since I was old enough to understand. But the things he did… I never could have imagined… and I know he wasn't imperiused. I don't want to become like him."

"So you think staying here doing nothing will save you from that. I suppose you're right, but you must realize it's-"

"Don't."

"... the coward's way out."

"I am not a coward!"

Steve shrugged.

"Then prove it. Join us, and prove through your actions you're a good person, that you're not like your father."

Draco gritted his teeth as he stared defiantly at him. Steve was having some difficulty not smirking because he knew he had gotten through to him and that he was about to capitulate.

"Malgrés moi," Draco said in perfect French, with a hint of derision. "Maybe that should be my family's new motto. We do seem to end up doing a lot of things against our will after all."

"So you accept?" Steve asked with a broad grin this time.

"As long as I don't have to wear that," Draco agreed, sneering at his Spandex attire.

Steve wasn't even mad. His mission was a success and he had a feeling he had found someone who would finally be able to out-snark Tony.


	4. Darcy Lewis: Shepherd of Scientists

**Darcy Lewis/Luna**

 **Lovegood** **Rating: T**

 **Summary:** **Taking time away from Jane, another lunatic scientist somehow got loose from its lab and lost in the woods. Darcy takes it upon herself to lead her back to where she belongs.**

 **Notes:** **Written for the Marvelously Magical Bingo 2018!**  
 **Square I2: Darcy Lewis/Luna Lovegood**

Cross legged on a patch of deep moss in the middle of nowhere Sweden, Darcy inhaled slowly to allow the fresh air to cleanse her chakras and shit. She had decided to take the few days leave she should be entitled to had she been a paid intern, to ditch her crazy boss and connect with her inner goddess.

She loved Jane like a sister, but just like a sister, there were times she wanted to strangle her, and that would be a real waste to the scientific community. Thor might smite her down too, as much as he liked Darcy, she was no Jane.

Ten breaths later, Darcy felt calmer already and more like herself because she'd kill right about now for some frothy coffee and cream-filled pastry. Her inner goddess, one of all things yummy, had awakened once more.

Opening her eyes, she expected to see the sun rising smack in the middle of the field in front of her. What she did not expect was for an otherworldly figure to step out of the light. Darcy narrowed her eyes at the ethereal figure surrounded by a halo of almost white hair.

Could be an elf. Could be another freaking alien.

Darcy's hand inched closer to her bag, reaching for her trusted taser.

But as her visitor stepped closer, she appeared entirely human: no scales, pointy teeth or extra limbs to be seen. Darcy kept her guard up however. Loki and Thor looked human at first glance, like two unbelievably hot humans admittedly, but her point stood.

"I'm looking for a baby Snorkack, have you seen one run by? I think I might have frightened the poor thing out of its nest."

Darcy gaped at the other woman's terrible fashion sense with her necklace made of corks and her sweater that looked like it had been knitted by the Hulk. She returned her attention to her eyes: so blue and large and so very unblinking. It was unnerving.

"A what now?" Darcy asked.

"A baby Snorkack."

So she'd heard it right the first time. Darcy wondered if the woman was one of the scientist working in the same center as Jane. As far as she knew, that was the only settlement for miles around. It would explain a lot if so, and she should probably herd this one back to where she belonged before she perished in the wilderness from starvation or exposure. Scientist were frail little things, and this specimen was even tinier than Jane for crying out loud.

"I'm sure you'll find it in good time. I bet they're smart creatures, right?"

The woman laughed.

"You know about them? What a brilliant stroke of luck!"

Darcy smiled at her accent. It was so adorable, she wanted to hug the syllables out of her.

"Sure! Just let me pack up and I'll show you the way. The name's Darcy, by the way."

"Luna. Luna Lovegood."

"Really?"

So. A-do-ra-ble.

Twelve minutes later, Darcy had crammed everything in her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"This way," she said pointing towards the way she'd come.

"Are you sure? I was almost positive Snorkacks preferred the underbrush to hide from Nargles."

"Err…"

So what if she was a bit crazy? Most scientists she knew were, and Darcy was used to simply roll with the insanity.

"Yep! See that over there?" Darcy asked pointing at some random mark on the muddy ground. "That's a Snorkack's paw print for sure."

Luna took an actual magnifying glass out of her sweater's pocket to observe the made up evidence. Darcy had to bite back on a snort as it made her eye even more large than it already was.

"So it is! Well done, Miss Darcy. We might just be able to catch the poor babe before it hurts somebody."

Darcy nodded her head wisely. Rule number one: always agree with the mad scientist. Of course, it went hand in hand with rule number two: always be ready to knock them unconscious before they summon Cthulhu or destroy the very fabric of reality.

Somehow, Darcy got her charge back to the scientific research center, although she wasn't sure who had led who there. They broke out of a clump of trees near the back of the sciencey complex with its huge telescope pointed at the heavens. Under normal circumstances, they would have to walk around the high metal-link chain fence circling the place, but there just so happened to be a huge gaping hole right in front of them.

"Oh dear," Luna sing-songed. "I hope it didn't cause too much trouble."

Darcy was seriously starting to worry by this point. She was bursting at the seams to ask what the hell a fucking Snorkack was, but she couldn't very well ask now after pretending to know exactly what it was they were tracking down for the last hour or so. She kept her taser on hand, ready to fry the first thing out to get her, but she was jumping at every sound by the time they made it inside the building. One of Luna's dainty little hands wrapped around her arm while the other patted her reassuringly.

"Not to worry, Darcy. It only fights back when it feels cornered or threatened. You'll be safe with me."

Darcy blinked at Luna. That was quite possibly the first time someone had told her such a thing, and she'd been in much worse situations before. Like Oh-My-God-There's-An-Alien-Robot-Literally-Shooting-Laser-Beams-At-Me sort of danger. And what the slight woman hoped to do if they were attacked by whatever had infiltrated the compound she didn't know. And just what was a Snorkack? A bear? A lab-created monster? A Hulk? An alien?

Then she heard it. A high pitched squeal that made her cover her ears with both hands while she tried to location the source of the horrible sound. Luna didn't even falter and continued turning her along. She looked like she'd be slipping towards the danger if she Darcy wasn't holding her back. They round a corner she knew as a large corridor leading to the cafeteria but it was currently blocked off by the fire security doors and attacked them was the strangely little creature Darcy had ever seen.

It wasn't particularly scary, but man was it weird. And big. The way Luna cooed at it as she tiptoed closer could only mean this was the baby Snorkack in all its purple glory. And it had a _horn_. Right in the middle of its frigging forehead. All twisted and slumped, but a horn nonetheless.

"It's a fucking unicorn," Darcy muttered.

Luna glanced at her with raised eyebrows.

"Unicorns aren't purple, silly. But I guess the two might be related as a species. It's a great theory, anyhow. I'll be sure to give you credit for it in my next article."

Luna put a leash around the poney-sized unicorn and patted its silky mane, which seemed to calm the down. Darcy just gaped at her. Then, she had a sudden realization.

"You don't work here."

Luna smiled and shook her head.

"But I'd like to come back to visit again and have a cup of tea together."

Darcy nodded dumbly, not sure what to make of this woman: who she was, where she'd come from or even what she wanted. The latter became clearer however when she leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"It's a date, then."

Luna stepped back and disappeared into thin air with her purple unicorn seconds before the doors burst open, SHIELD agents surrounding her with all manner of guns pointed at her. Oh dear. She was going to have to explain all of this nonsense to Agent What's-His-Name, wasn't she?


	5. A Match Made in Mischief

**Loki/Sirius Black**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary:** **The last thing Loki expected when he fell into the abyss that had once been the Bifrost was to meet his biggest fan.**

 **Notes: For the Marvelously Magical Bingo 2018! Square O1: Loki/Sirius**

Loki let go. Thor's hand was right there within reach, but he couldn't face his brother and his inevitable forgiveness, his father's ire or his mother's disappointment, his actions nor his failure… No, he was better off gone. Forgotten.

Or so he thought in the second it took him to let go. He regretted it almost immediately, then he was sucked into a wormhole that could take him just about anywhere, or nowhere as the case might be.

"Hey!"

Loki was sure he must have imagined the voice. He'd been drifting for so long, alone in the void where no sound and no light could penetrate. He might even be dead and not know it.

"Hallo!"

This time, Loki glanced around and was startled to see a small light, like the tiniest star, glide towards him.

"Bugger."

Well, that was a new one.

"Not you, sorry. It's just not very easy moving through nothing."

Loki nodded. It was indeed. He had given up himself after many fruitless efforts, and let himself drift aimlessly. If he was even moving. It was hard to tell.

The star was growing bigger and he could soon make out the shape of a man, his pale skin and long hair. The light was emanating from the end of a carved length of wood. A wand, if he wasn't mistaken. He hadn't realized there were still magical midgardians around or he would have recruited them. Their magic was a bit crude, but quite useful.

"Ah, there you are! Fancy meeting you here, mate. What bitch did you piss off to land yourself in this hell?"

"None, really. I guess you could say I only have myself to blame for my current predicament."

"That's quite unfortunate. Personally, I like having someone to blame for my problems."

"Understandable."

Loki would like nothing better than to blame all of it on his oaf of a brother, but he couldn't, not when he saw Thor's distraught face and his hand reaching for him every time he closed his eyes.

"I'm Sirius," the stranger said and extended a hand.

Loki hesitated, but the man was slowly drifting away again thanks to the dregs of the momentum hed used to accost him. He caught the proffered hand, not wanting to be alone again, and kept hold of it. It was warm.

"Loki."

Sirius grinned from ear to ear.

"Like the God of Mischief? Awesome, we should get along just fine."

"Like?" Loki asked, bemused.

Sirius' brow furrowed, making Loki smirk. Then the puzzlement turned into realization and he gaped. Loki could have sworn he saw a glimpse of adoration in the other man's grey eyes. It felt… good. Invigorating. He had forgotten what it was like to be worshipped.

"Really?" Sirius said in a whisper.

Loki nodded once, like the magnanimous God he was, while Sirius drank the sight of him as if he was a dream come true. Loki suddenly felt it was easier to breathe. He was what he was, and shouldn't feel so burdened by other people's expectations, not even his family's. He shouldn't be ashamed of who he was, who he couldn't help being. He couldn't repress his own nature, the very fabric of himself. He'd been digging his own grave, he realized, destroying himself to please others. Loki let go of it all, just like he had let go of the broken Bifrost, what felt like a lifetime ago.

"The one and only. Tell me how you came to haunt this place?"

Loki wasn't just asking for the sake of entertainment or to satisfy his curiosity. He found himself truly interested in the magical Midgardian who remembered and revered him for who he was. Not to mention he thought it would be weird if they kept holding hands but didn't talk, and he didn't want to relinquish Sirius'hand… So talk they shall. He was not disappointed by the tale either. Sirius was an adequate storyteller as he took him from his misguided youth, to his years in a nightmarish prison, to his escape for revenge…

"But then I found Harry, and all I wanted was to protect him, be there for him, but my deranged cousin took that away from me and cast me through the Veil. I thought I would die, I really did, but I've just been floating around this boring stretch of space for… I actually don't have a clue how long. Could be minutes, could be years…"

"And yet, you have not gone mad?"

Sirius scoffed.

"After Azkaban? Are you serious? In comparison, this is a holiday. Never cold, never hungry and I don't have to fear my soul will get sucked out when I'm taking a kip. I'd take years of drifting in nothing over that hellhole in a heartbeat every single time."

"It does sound rather medieval," Loki acknowledged. "Yet, you did seem rather eager to meet me."

"'Course I was. I'm not a glutton for punishment either. Did enough of that already. Twelve years, to be exact."

Loki nodded and tugged Sirius closer so he could feel more of his warmth, see more of his adoration. He had only been cast in this void for a few weeks at best, and he was entirely too sick of it.

"Misery loves company, or so I've heard," Loki said, lowering his voice so Sirius would have to lean closer and let him whisper into his ear.

Words to make him worship more than his mischief. Loki did have a silver tongue and many other wicked ways, after all, and they had all the time in the world to explore them.


	6. Magnetism

**Phil Coulson/Hermione Granger**

 **Rating: M**

 **Summary:** **Phil Coulson does not carry weapons, concealed or otherwise. He does not need to. The weapons come to him, or so Fury says, which is how he was chosen for a delicate mission in London.**

 **Notes: For the Marvelously Magical Bingo 2018!**

 **Square N3: this is my free square! Participant's choice! I REGRET NOTHING!**

"It's _not_ a superpower, sir. I can assure you I'm not a mutant, science project gone wrong, or enhanced in any other way."

Nick Fury seemed unimpressed by his declaration, so Phil persisted to cover any loopholes.

"And I'm human, born and bred."

The Director still seemed unconvinced. He dropped several autopsy pictures on the table between them, and Phil winced at some of them.

"You disposed of this spy with a paperclip."

"In my defense, he _was_ going to kill me."

"And this Hydra agent was terminated by straw… A standard plastic straw, might I add."

"Nasty things, straws. Terrible for the environment. I'm glad you finally banned them from the cafeteria."

Fury muttered something under his breath before continuing.

"And today we have this janitor who was, and I quote, 'punctured to death by pencil'. Care to explain?"

"He caught me unawares. It's all I had on hand. I was on my way to sharpen it, actually. I did ask you multiple times to allot one pencil sharpener per desk. It's a terrible waste of time otherwise, as you can see."

"And the janitor?"

"Ah, yes. Not a very nice man. Robby "Liferobber" Bertucci. A hitman who works mostly on the West Coast, if I remember correctly. Seems he made an exception for me, although I can't begin to imagine why."

Fury's eye narrowed in on the third photo. He was hard to read as a rule, but it seemed he hadn't realized who the janitor really was, and had merely trusted Phil's judgement that he had stopped him for a good reason. Otherwise, he had no doubt he'd be in a holding cell right now, instead of the Director's office. Fury grunted, then swiped the pictures together in one large hand, and stashed the lot back in the top drawer of his desk.

"Let's pretend for a moment you're a normal human being-"

"I am."

Fury ignored him.

"I have a mission for you. My last agent didn't fare so well, and was recovered only today without his gear or any memory of his task. Since you don't need any gear and appear so… _harmless_ to the untrained eye, I think you might succeed where he failed."

It was an infiltration mission, without gear, without backup, without a clue of what he was walking into. All he had been told was to close his eyes and keep walking until he found a door, go in and infiltrate whatever was on the other side, then report back as soon as possible.

Watching the busy London street and the direction he was to walk in, Phil wondered if this was a test or a practical joke, but then he saw it too: a woman walked to that place where a bookshop and a music shop met, then disappeared into thin air.

Phil was really doing this. Literally walking into the unknown. A tingle of excitement ran through his whole body, making him feel more alive than ever before. This might actually be fun.

He closed his eyes while a couple other agents made sure he didn't get run over by traffic or jostled by the passers-by, until they inexplicably left without a word.

 _Must be close._

He'd been told there was something about this place that repelled most people. Closing his eyes would help, but only sheer determination would get him to his destination, and Phil had that in spades.

He smiled to himself when he bumped into a wooden door. His hand instinctively reached for a handle and he pushed the door, opening his eyes only once he had both his feet firmly set on wooden floorboards.

For a moment, he wondered if he had travelled back in time. The establishment he found himself in was the very image of an old timey British pub. Phil was glad he had been given such nondescript clothes that he didn't look too out of place. He still missed his black suit, but he would have stood out like a sore thumb wearing it in this sort of environment.

"Can I help you?"

The gruff voice belonged to the barman who was eyeing him suspiciously. Phil gathered his wits and smiled his blandest smile at the man, approaching the bar with practiced casualness. One tap was obviously for beer so he ordered that. The other bottles behind him looked entirely too foreign.

"You're from across the pond," the barman said with a nod as if that explained any doubts he'd had about him.

"Yep," Phil answered, popping the "p" to add to whatever caricature the barman had in mind.

A beer in an oversized mug slid under his nose, but it first look quiet right. It wasn't chills to start with and it was too opaque and the frothy too thick.

"That'll be two sickles."

That gave Phil pause. He couldn't possibly be talking about the farming tool. It made no sense. He supposed they could have their own currency…

"Ah. I s'ppose you haven't had time to change your money at Gringotts yet, eh?"

Phil nodded. _Gringotts?_

"Hey, I'm not judging. Happens to everyone. Let's see, that should be 'bout…" the barman's eyes focused on his mental calculus until he smiled triumphantly. "£2.35, or $2.99 based on this morning's exchange rate."

"Impressive," Phil said and actually meant it.

The barman beamed as he took in Phil's dollars. He had British money in his pockets, but if the barman wanted to believe he had freshly arrived on Shakespeare's turf, he might as well go all the way.

"Tool o' the trade. We get all sorts here."

"Don't listen to him," a woman said as she leaned on the counter next to him. "Tom is a mathematical genius. Shame we don't have much use for it here, and the Goblins don't hire humans if they can help it."

Phil smiled politely at the new arrival while he was frantically taking notes in his mind. If these people weren't completely delusional, they lived along _goblins._

 _Goblins!_

Another species, because she'd made the distinction with humans, but which was intelligent and evolved enough to have a trade involving mathematics. At least, these people were human. But so were mutants. Could this be another branch of humans which had evolved alongside them?

"The usual, Tom, if you don't mind," the woman said to the barman before turning towards him. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Not at all."

If she was chatty, all the better to gather intel.

"You're not from around here."

She said it as fact, his accent giving him away again, no doubt.

"That obvious, eh?"

The woman laughed as Tom set the same weird beer he had been served, as well as a plate of biscuits.

"Don't take it personally. We all know one another more or less around here. Our community isn't as large or open as most other countries."

 _Oh? Do keep speaking. This is interesting._

"I'm Hermione, by the way. Welcome to England."

"Phil," he replied and took her proffered hand to shake. "It's been very welcoming so far."

"Any place in particular you were planning to visit?"

"No. You could say this was a spur of the moment trip."

He could because it was. Fury had sprung this infiltration on him just yesterday.

"Well, you should see Hogwarts, I suppose. Everyone seems to like comparing the size of their castles. I've heard Ilvermorny isn't so big, but appears so because it's built so high up in the mountains. I always wondered how you dealt with air rarefaction?"

"Erm…"

Alright. She'd lost him there.

"But maybe you went to Salem?" she asked, sounding contrite.

Phil nodded uncertainly.

"An all-girls school? You must have been quite the lady's man there."

 _It's a trap!_

By the time Admiral Ackbar's warning echoed through his mind, Phil was already on his feet with a fork in hand directed at the woman's throat. No need for lethal force as she wasn't there to kill him. They hadn't killed the previous agent after all.

"I'll just be on my way, then," Phil said.

Someone shouted behind him and his fork went flying out of his hand. No matter, Phil spun around Hermione, if that was even her real name, and used her as a shield while his fork was replaced by a knife. Alright, a butter knife, but that was more than enough for him.

Once more, a shout that sounded like "expel armus" made his knife fly out of his hand and into another woman's who had been cleaning the tables. He was putting the mutant explanation back on the table. They had similar powers. Invisibility and telekinesis, at the very least. Phil reached for a… spork? He sighed, but held it under her neck, keeping her close with her arm twisted between them so she couldn't try anything without him knowing and her being in some amount of pain.

"Tom! Lock your fucking cutlery away, for Merlin's sake!" the irrate tavern wench shouted, her blonde pigtails bobbing in anger.

"Now, like I said, I'll just be leaving," Phil resumed, as if he hadn't been so rudely interrupted the first time.

"So soon?" Hermione gritted between her teeth. "And here we'd been getting along so well."

He had managed to inch towards the exit, keeping a wary distance from the other patrons and staff, keeping his back safe and his eyes alert, when his hostage surprised him by twisting far enough that she had room to elbow him in the gut. Phil clenched his jaw, but didn't let so much as a wince appear on his face.

"Are you quite done?" he muttered and pulled her flush against him once more.

Unfortunately, the distraction allowed Tom to make his spork fly out of his hand, no matter how hard he had been gripping it, and Phil had to dodge when several red fireworks came zooming straight at him. On the bright side, he'd managed to scavenge a stick from Hermione's person and he poked her in the neck with it. At this rate, her peach-perfect skin was going to be all bruised up.

A murmur went through the crowd this time, some outraged, others worried. The only difference was the stick. Scanning each individual, he realized some of them were pointing similar sticks at him, and Phil came to the conclusion he had made a major social faux-pas by borrowing hers. It allowed him to reach the door however, and before anyone could react, he had opened it, thrown his hostage at the nearest person and run like hell. The SHIELD van screeched besides him and barely slowed down for him to jump aboard before taking him far away to safety.

"You didn't last as long as I'd hoped," Fury said.

"But I still have my memories intact," Phil countered, tapping his temple with his index.

"There is that."

Phil told him everything he'd seen and everything he'd deduced, before handing him the piece of polished wood these people seemed to favour. He belatedly noticed a pattern of delicate vine leaves carved along the larger end and almost snached it back for a better look, but Fury was already grasping greedily for it and you didn't take Fury's toys away from him. The Director then told him to keep his mouth shut and promoted him.

Phil was due to leave the next day with the rest of the group. They weren't exactly meant to operate on foreign soil without a very good reason, and had probably broken a fair number of protocols, international laws and treaties, but what the Queen didn't know couldn't hurt her.

He felt uneasy, however. Something was niggling at the back of his head, something he had overlooked and despite feeling so tired after his adrenalin filled day, he couldn't find sleep. He closed his eyes and listed the various forms he _should have filled_ had this mission not been stamped whatever was above _top secret._ Too-secret-to-be-written-down apparently. He mentally filled in the forms anyway, as he found the whole process soothing and had almost fallen asleep when he felt the slightest shift in the air of his otherwise quiet bedroom. His eyes flew open, but he only had time to throw off his covers before he was set upon, a heavy weight settling over his middle while something hard dug under his chin.

"We meet again," came a familiar voice.

"Hermione," Phil acknowledged, impressed despite himself that she had found him and taken him by surprise. "Quite forward of you to venture into enemy territory, and alone at that."

Not to mention the way she was straddling him. He would bet he could easily throw her off too, if it weren't for the weapon aimed unerringly at his carotid.

"Call it a bit of revenge, if you want."

Phil arched a brow at her and Hermione scowled back. He could swear she was actually pouting, but it at least confirmed she had indeed come alone, which was completely foolish on her part.

"You made it personal," she muttered.

Phil didn't see how, unless she was a sore loser. Oh dear God… she was, wasn't she? And somehow, he had wounded her pride.

"What if I let you win this time?"

It didn't really matter now. His mission had been accomplished and he had already transmitted his intel. Losing his memory of the last day, while annoying, wasn't such a heavy price to pay.

"You're not _letting_ me anything," she seethed. "I have the upper hand here. You. Have. Nothing."

Phil smiled placidly, which seemed to enrage her even more.

"You're right. You can do with me as you will," he said, palms held open in surrender.

He knew he shouldn't. It wasn't in his habit to taunt the enemy so blatantly, but there was something about this woman, her wit, their banter…

"You're so infuriating," she muttered.

"I do get told that quite often," he agreed.

By most anyone he met, in truth, but rarely so plainly or to his face. She was decidedly afascibating woman. Phil licked his lips, trying to keep his breathing under control as Hermione shifted her weight above him. But she was smart, and had eyes, and could most certainly feel the effect she was having on him.

It wasn't his fault. He was half naked, in his bed, at night, and with a pretty woman straddling him. It was practically a Pavlov reflex, or so he'd tell her when she would berate him for his inappropriate behaviour. He'd never been in such a situation before, and SHIELD did not provide a course on what to do when your opponent is turning you on. They really should. It was very shortsighted on their part and he'd make sure to nag Fury until he rectified such a monumental oversight.

Hermione flushed suddenly and Phil winced, expecting the worse. She might even erase all of his memory in retaliation… but instead, he felt her lips on his. After a moment's hesitation, he returned the kiss and groaned when she squirmed above him and brushed against his erection.

He was definitely crossing a line, fraternising with the enemy. Fury was going to have his balls for this. But for once, just this once… he couldn't care less. Phil put all thought of Fury out of his mind and began pulling clothes off Hermione. She was wearing far too many layers and dared giggle at his frustration, so he flipped her onto her back and tore the last buttons off. They ricocheted around the room and he smirked at her breathless, mostly naked form beneath him.

It was insanity. He hardly even knew her or what she was, but if he was going to have his mind wiped, he might as well enjoy it first. His only regret then would be not remembering it, and he wouldn't even remember to do that much.

"Stop thinking," she said as she slid her arms over his back to pull his boxers down.

"Yes Ma'am."

But she was right and he focused on the task at hand once more: getting rid of her last layer of clothing. He put his tongue to good use when he had, worshipping every part of her body. She was so responsive. He'd bet she had been having as bad a dry spell as he had.

"Phil," she panted, then froze. "Oh bugger, your name _is_ Phil, right?"

"Yes. Hermione?"

She nodded and smiled, looking both relieved and sheepish.

"Bit weird," she added.

"Doesn't have to be," he shrugged and produced a condom from… somewhere. He actually had no idea where it came from since he didn't go on missions expecting sex.

 _Uhm… maybe Fury is on to something with that superpower thing. Magnet-of-small-useful-objects. Way cooler than it sounds._

Phil shrugged and ripped the foil packet open. Hermione took charge of the rest, slowly unrolling it on his too hard, too sensitive erection. He was going to burst if she kept this up.

"Tease," he breathed out.

"Maybe you should teach me a lesson then."

That was his kind of dirty talk. Phil didn't need to be told twice. He pulled her towards him, making her squeak in surprise and pushed her legs up, resting them against his torso. Hermione was shaking in anticipation and he stared right into her eyes as he pushed his hips forward, but not for long, it was too… too much. He paused to get his breathing back under control. Hermione made a desperate sound, like a whine, so he shifted his head to kiss her leg and began moving again, inside her warmth, tight, oh God… she was just so perfect and her little cries were driving him on and driving him mad as he pounded into her with more and more abandon, until his thighs burned and his hips bucked more erratically. He was so close. It was his name on her lips, begging, demanding, that sent him over the edge.

His mind was a blank after that. But not because she had erased his memories. It had simply been… a long time. And intense. Fury could have his balls. He didn't regret this one bit, he thought as he disposed of the condom.

Hermione looked so content next to him, smiling and half asleep, that he had no doubt she had come during his ejaculation-induced blackout. Or he hoped so…

Phil hung his head. He was a terrible lover.

"Stop thinking," Hermione mumbled as she pulled him closer and snuggled against him.

"Yes Ma'am," he replied with a smile.

Call him a glutton for punishment, but he could get used to being bossed around during the night as well as the day.


	7. Fire and Flame

**Pairing: Sam Wilson/Charlie Weasley**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: After a mission in Romania, Sam gets his wings burned by a frigging dragon. He sometimes wishes his life was a bit more normal.**

After a mission in Romania, Sam gets his wings burned by a frigging dragon. He sometimes wishes his life was a bit more normal.

Mission over. Another win for the Avengers. Clear blues skies all around. Sam couldn't resist spreading his wings just a little longer. Soaring over a forest so vast and green it looked like an ocean. He turned off his com and drifted from one air current to the next, like a leaf, without a care. Just him and the wind.

Of course it couldn't last. Of course something would go wrong. That was a given since he'd become an Avenger. Even before that, actually. Since he'd met Steve. Not that he regretted it, but sometimes he wished things were a bit more… normal.

No robots straight out of Terminator, no monsters from other dimensions or space, no temperamental coffee-maker spitting boiling water at him because he put the filter in wrong, no mad scientists speaking a mile a minute in words that were supposedly english but had so many syllables, Sam sometimes wondered if they made them up just to confuse him…

Just a tiny bit of peace and quiet now and then would be nice. But the monstrous roar echoing throughout the green sea of leaves seemed to disagree with his wishes. Sam flipped in the air to glance all around him and found birds by the dozens taking to the sky all at once and tailing it out of there. Sam paused in flight, staring at the spot in question.

Should he tell the others about this? It might just be… a bear? He wasn't sure. He didn't know much about the Romanian forests, or about bears for that matter, so he decided to inspect the disturbance first and call backup after if need be.

Sam nodded to himself. That way, Tony wouldn't mock him mercilessly for calling in Earth's mightiest heroes because he'd cried wolf. Who knows what sort of nickname he would end up with after that. Birdman was bad enough, but accurate, he supposed. And don't get him started on Tweety bird…

Sam flew cautiously towards the danger zone, senses on high alert as he descended for a better look, so he didn't understand what had happened when all of his electronics suddenly went on the fritz. He could still fly, but barely, and he was too close to the trees and then, in the forest itself.

The trees stood tall and far apart, enough that he could manoeuvre. He even thought of landing before he heard the roar again.

Nope. No landing for him. He'd be defenseless on the ground.

"Come on, come on," Sam prayed as he pushed his wings to bring him upwards.

Trees started crashing behind him and Sam turned his com back on. He didn't care if Tony called him chicken. He was fucking terrified. A dark forest alone with some giant beast after him… yeah, this was a nightmare alright.

But his com didnt work. Not one bit. Of course it didn't. Avengers luck, right? Just him and his wings then.

Finding a warm air current, he leaned into it and shot upwards, out of the trees again, but so did his pursuant.

"Are you frigging kidding me?"

It was a dragon. He'd never seen one before, but what else could it be? It was a textbook dragon: wings, scales, tail, teeth and all.

It roared. Sam fled.

He was not equipped for this, so he flew, dived and rolled to avoid sharp teeth and even sharper talons, but the dragon was always there and as he'd feared since he first saw it, it breathed fire. A wave of scorching hot fire burned the air around him.

It was all he could do to wraps his wings around him. It was his only chance for survival, and it worked… up to a point. Because he was plummeting to the ground now and his wings could barely slow down his downward spirit to the ground.

Then there was a shout and a smaller flame zoomed passed at breakneck speed before disappearing from view again. Sam couldn't have followed it with his eyes if he had wanted to. He was having a hard enough time breathing as it was with the wind whipping around him.

"Got you!" he heard just as he was jerked upwards then hauled over someone's lap.

And was that a branch? No, a broom. He was flying on a frigging wooden broom. How as that even possible?

"What the actual fuck?" Sam gritted out, trying to get a glimpse of his saviour, but all he could make out was a lot of leather and the flaming red hair he had noticed earlier.

"Keep your knickers on, mate. We still got a grumpy dragon lady to outfly."

"On a broom?"

"Hey, it's a perfectly fine Nimbus 2000. Don't hate on the broom, man, or it will buck you off before you can say Quidditch."

Temperamental brooms? Alright. Why not? He had to live with a spitting mad coffee-maker after all. So Sam remained as still as possible, even if he wished he wasn't in such a ridiculous position. The dragon roared and breathed fire, but couldn't catch up. The red-headed broom-rider was an incredible flyer if he said so himself, and the beast eventually gave up or found something more interesting to do.

"Hold on tight. Just five more minutes and I'll get you to the infirmary."

"I don't-"

"No excuses. You get barbecued, you go to the infirmary. That's Rule number two of the Dragon Reserve."

 _Since when was there such a thing as dragon reserve?_ his mind screamed.

"What's the first rule?" he asked instead.

For the first time, his knight in leather armour glanced down at him and flashed him a winsome smile that made him catch his breath, made his heart skip a beat the way it had that first time Steve had doled out his perfect smile at him for no other reason than he was happy to see him.

"Don't tickle the dragons."

Sam snorted and dropped his face back to the ground where he could now see a small ring of wooden buildings come into view. He braced himself for the landing, feeling wrong-footed without the use of his wings and in his precarious position over the other man's lap, but at thr last minute, the redhead put an arm around him and hauled him up like he weighed nothing to set him on his feet just as they slowed down to earth. The broom slid beneath them and righted itself to become immobile in the other man's hand.

Smooth landing, and the guy didn't even have wings.

To be honest, Sam was torn between jealousy and admiration. Just like Steve. He'd like to meet someone clumsy and terrible looking for a change.

"I'm Charlie," he said extending a hand.

"Sam. Thanks for saving my ass up there," and he meant it.

He knew exactly what happened when you lost your wings and didn't have someone swoop in to save you at the last second. Sam blinked those images away and shook his hand while Charlie grinned like a madman. It was infectious.

"Would've done it sooner, but I was admiring your flying and lost precious seconds. You have wings. Real, actual wings."

Sam was glad he wasn't the sort to blush, but he looked away anyway, checking his wings out as an excuse, even though he knew they were beyond repair.

"Had wings," he replied mournfully. "I think they _melted_ on me."

He was starting to feel the pain and heat of the burns now that he was safe.

"Infirmary," Charlie ordered and escorted him towards the central building.

It looked nothing like a medical wing. No white walls, neon lights, beeping machines or sterile environment. Instead, he was greeted by wooden floorboards and old, metal-framed beds. He would've guessed hunting cabin before infirmary.

"Quaint," he commented.

"Be nice," Charlie said as he elbowed him in the ribs. "And sit. Or… do your wings come off?"

Sam nodded but knew it was going to hurt like a bitch.

"Don't you have a doctor around?"

"A healer, right? Nope. We're all trained to treat most injuries we might get here. If it's too serious, we get evacuated towards the nearest hospital. Safer that way."

"Can't imagine why," Sam muttered. "Okay. I'll release the left wing first if you can support it. I'd rather it didn't rip all of my skin off on its way down."

Charlie nodded and stepped behind him, holding without hesitation his deformed wing when it slipped off it's support.

"Got it," Charlie said. "Looks like it protected you pretty well on this side."

Sam suspected most of the damage had been on his right but winced at having it confirmed.

"Alright. Next one."

He released it and bit his lip to keep from crying out as it pulled at his skin, burns pulsating with pain with every thundering beat of his heart. He broke a sweat and felt a bit faint while Charlie pulled his broken wing away ever so carefully, before setting it down next to its twin with care and reverence.

"You like to fly," Sam said.

No one else would have that sort of longing in their eyes.

"Yes, but I've never seen someone fly like you. It was beautiful. A broom is faster, but it's not… I don't get that same freedom, you know?"

Sam nodded in understanding.

"Of being carried by the wind? Yeah, I do know," he replied with a sad smile.

"Come on, let's get you fixed and then we'll see what we can do about your wings."

Sam nodded and slowly took off his leather armour, one piece at a time. It was like a very fastidious, very painful strip-tease. Charlie helped him when the layer of clothes clung to his skin, while Sam could only clench his jaw. Thankfully, his bottom half had been spared the dragonfire. He didn't even want to think having his bits melded to his leather pants.

"Verdict?" Sam asked once he was bare-chested. "Should I be shipped off to the hospital?"

Charlie took a step back, as if admiring a painting.

"I think I'll manage," Charlie sounded smug, doubly so when he ordered him to lay on the closest bed.

Charlie reached for a glass jar on a nearby shelf which was filled with a frankly disgusting-looking, bright orange paste.

"That's going to clash terribly with my complexion," Sam muttered.

"Nothing ever goes with orange," Charlie shrugged.

Sam begged to differ. Charlie's bright ginger hair couldn't have suited him better and he seemed to wear it proudly when he could so easily have shorn it short, dyed it, or even simply have hidden the long orange strands beneath a hat.

His mind soon drifted from the other man's striking hair to his hand. They felt impossibly cool against his skin, but that was probably caused by the paste he was rubbing over his burns. The relief was immediate. Sam closed his eyes and relaxed, never noticing the moment he drifted into a peaceful slumber.

When he woke up, the pain had disappeared and he wasn't even exaggerating. He could see no mirrors around, probably a good idea in a place that was doomed to treat horrific injuries, so he tentatively passed a hand over his shoulder to touch one of the places he had been badly burned.

Nothing but smooth skin. It couldn't be possible. He trailed his hand over his back, as far as he could reach, but all he could feel was unbroken skin all the way.

"Need a hand there, Sam?"

Sam whirled around at the sound of Charlie's bemused voice.

"How?" he demanded. "The burns…"

Charlie raised a brow and showed off his hands.

"Magic hands?"

"What? Seriously?"

With the things he saw as an Avenger, anything was possible in his opinion.

"Could be. You should stay conscious next time to find out," Charlie retorted with a wink.

Sam stared at him. Was he flirting with him? Or just teasing? He hadn't a clue, so he nodded. Let the cheeky sod make of it what he would.

"Thanks. So… this place…"

Sam trailed off, not sure how to voice his concern about a dragon reserve, which implied a certain number of dragons. And he'd seen the beast. It was anything but peaceful. What if one got loose from the reserve and rampaged a neighbouring town. It would go up in flames in a matter of seconds and kill hundreds, thousands…

"Uhm. Kind of a secret. People don't usually come in from the sky so it didn't have the usual repelling wards. That's been corrected already, of course. The Dragon Handlers Guild would like to extend their sincerest apologies to you."

He nodded but mulled over his words. He'd never heard if such an institution, but SHIELD had more secrets than it knew what to do with..

"I didn't even know dragons really existed outside fairy tales, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"No, you don't seem the type to scare easily, which is why I'm doing this."

Charlie produced a polished stick from his pocket and aimed it at his melted wings.

"Reparo."

And there, in front of his very eyes, his wings unmelted, for lack of a better word, like a video played backwards. It was weird and eery, but over so fast, he might have missed it had he blinked. His wings now lay solid and gleaming, like new.

"Okay. Apology accepted, although I should really be the one thanking you for… well, everything."

"It's part of my job. But if you really want to thank me, you only have to take me for a spin. You know, one good ride deserves another?"

"I'm pretty sure that's not how the saying goes," Sam laughed, but he accepted to take Charlie flying. Wanted to, in fact. The only other person he knew who loved flying as much as him was Tony, and the man was too insufferable to bond over it. He imagined flying with Tony would be akin to getting stuck on a long drive with a yapping chihuahua on caffeine.

"Not now, though. My wings might look shiny and new, but I'd better have them checked out first, especially if I have a passenger. Raincheck?"

"I'll hold you to that. Anywhere I can drop you off then?"

Sam looked through the window but there was not a vehicle in sight. He'd rather not go back to his team on the back of a broom however, even if the man's lap held some appeal right now. Realizing what he was doing, Sam quickly turned his gaze away from said lap.

"Does it involve riding a dragon?"

Charlie laughed.

"No, no. That would suicidal. Although my little brother did once. I've never been so jealous in my life, not that I'd tell him. He already has the ego of a Hippogryph. No, I was actually thinking or apparating you there?"

"Apparating?"

"It's easier if I show you," Charlie said and waited for him to dress and pick up his wings, whistling a jolly tune.

"Ready?" he asked in a voice that made shivers run down his spine.

Sam gulped and nodded as Charlie stalked closer. He was pretty sure the other man was a magician, like the legendary Merlin, not like those frauds in Vegas. His arms slipped around his waist as he faced him, looking so mischievous he wondered if maybe he wasn't a leprechaun after all.

Then they were twisting and shrinking and moving all at once. It wasn't anything like flying and felt more like crashing through a storm. He hated every second of it, but clung on to Charlie for dear life. The trip only lasted an instant however, and they were now standing in a dark alleyway that had a prime view on the Triumph Arch in Bucharest. It had to have been at least a hundred miles away…

"Amazing," he breathed out. "I mean, it was awful, but damn practical. Bit… erm… up close and personal though."

Sam squirmed a bit against Charlie who hadn't let go of him.

"Oh, I didn't need to. I just wanted to."

Okay, Charlie was definitely flirting with him, and his own heart was betraying him, thumping like mad at their proximity.

"I'll find my way from here, thanks. And I'll find my way back to you to take you flying. Give me a couple of days?"

"It's a date," Charlie agreed with a wide grin before pinching his ass and disappearing.

Oh, boy. Sam realized he was probably in way over his head, and he had no idea how he was going to explain to the others why he had been off grid for so long. Dragons and magic? He was going to have one hell of a time convincing his friends.


	8. Voices in your Head aren't Necessarily a

**Pairing: Clibt Barton/Hermione Granger**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: Clint finally has a superpower of his own, only it isn't one. It's much better than that.**

Whenever the Avengers have been a couple of days without some dastardly villain trying to destroy the city, something weird is bound to happen to one of them. It's mathematical. So no one is surprised when Clint runs into the kitchen that morning, looking both panicked and delighted. "I have a superpower!" he exclaims.

Natasha, Steve and Tony who are the only ones up at such an ungodly hour, and the latter only because he hadn't actually gone to bed yet, look nonplussed at the archer.

"Don't you have a superpower already, birdbrain?" Tony asks.

"I have good eyesight and shit hearing. I don't call that a superpower. It's compensation, at best. No, I have a real one now!"

"Well, by all means, show it off!"

Clint… looks constipated for all of a minute before he stops… whatever he was doing.

"Uhm… Doesn't seem to be working just yet."

"What did it do?" Natasha asks now that her cup is empty.

"I could hear… someone. Their thoughts, I mean, not what they were actually saying, because no one would say that out loud, except maybe Tony, if he was a woman-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Tony interrupts, waving his hands around like a lunatic. "You mean to tell us you're basically hearing voices. Am I the only one worried here?"

"No, that is quite worrisome. Do you need me to hit your head really hard again?" Natasha says with her Cheshire cat smile.

"You're all missing the point," Steve adds and Clint nods at him in thanks. "What are the voices saying? Because if they're telling him to file his missions' paperwork, I say we leave it at that."

Clint huffs and leaves because there's only so much mockery he can take before his first cup of coffee. A coffee shop full of potential threats sounds like a much better option than the tower's kitchen this morning.

" _I need coffee so bad,_ " a woman comments near him, sounding like she just got out of bed herself with a bad hangover

"Tell me about it," Clint muttered, glaring at the back of every person in front of him in the never ending line.

He glances around to find the equally bad-tempered coffee-junky, wondering if she would like to team up for a coffee-heist and be done with the waiting, but there are only men close by, which is how he knows it was the voice again.

Probably the same one, in fact, because it had a snotty accent like Jarvis.

" _I swear if George slips me another potion, I will feed his balls to my cat."_

Clint winces. _That's a bit extreme._

" _No it's not! It tasted foul! Wait… what? Who's in my head?"_

" _I'm not in your head. You're in mine."_

" _I can assure you I'm not. I'm in my pajamas in my hotel room."_

" _At least I know I'm not making you up, or I would have said naked. So… this is weird."_

" _That you're perving on a disembodied voice? Quite."_

" _You don't seem very surprised about the telepathy bit. Not that I mind myself. It's kind of cool. Think we can eavesdrop on anyone else?"_

" _You can try. I know I am."_

After a few minutes of trying to read the minds of people around him, but only hearing the frustrated thoughts from the same woman as before, Clint comes to the conclusion he's no Professor Xavier with his one on one telepathy link.

" _Well,"_ the woman thinks and he can almost feel her exasperation. " _Now I know what that potion did, although that doesn't mean it's what it was supposed to do. Why you, though? Do we know each other? Are you special? Were you slipped a potion too?"_

Clint is glad her string of questions has ended. With the speed she's thinking at, he'd soon forget the beginning of her interrogation.

" _I don't know. I don't think so. Define 'special'. And… potion?"_

The woman sighs.

" _This is worse than I thought. I'm going to find George, get an antidote from him, and then kill him with my bare hands."_

" _How long is that going to take you? Not that I mind your company, but I doubt I'll be sent on missions if I can hear voices my head, especially since I was already mind controlled once before."_

" _Ah. So you_ are _special. Good. It shouldn't take me long. George is in the room next to mine if I remember correctly. Hotel rooms all look the same after a while, and I only know I'm in New York because I can see the Empire State building from here."_

Clint nods at her wisdom. He has the same problem when he goes on long missions for SHIELD. Sometimes, he doesn't even know what _country_ he's in. Not that he'd admit it to his mind-visitor since she already seems to consider him something of an idiot.

He belatedly realizes he's lucky she hasn't heard that, but seems to have a pretty good grasp on what thoughts he wants her to hear or not. He grimaces at the idea he might have Loki to thank for that.

Clint hears her using very colourful curses on her way to her friend's room and he almost pities the poor guy. Meanwhile, he finally has his cup of overpriced, but delicious, coffee in his hand and he heads out to enjoy it, then decides to visit his new friend. They're both in New-York, after all. It would be a shame not too, and he's naturally nosy too, so he basically doesn't have a choice.

The connection between them seems to have closed off though, because he hasn't heard a peep out of her since she knocked on George's door. Maybe it's because she's too focused on murdering the poor guy.

He lands his empty cup into a recycling bin from thirty feet. A potshot by his standards, but he gets high fived by some random dude for it. He loves New York.

There are not all that many hotels that have a direct view on the Empire State building, but it's still a lot of places to go through to find a person he's never seen before. He considers using Jarvis, but that would feel like cheating, and not half as fulfilling as finding his mind-stowaway on his own.

" _Hey! Lady? Voice in my head? Knock-Knock!"_

" _That's probably the strangest greeting I've received yet."_

" _We forgot to introduce ourselves. How else am I supposed to get your attention? And why aren't I hearing you at all anymore? I thought it was a fluke, but it's been a while now."_

" _I've been shielding my mind."_

" _You can do that?"_

" _Sure."_

Clint is certain she had just shrugged, as if protecting her mind is no big deal. That and her earlier mention of potions makes him think he may have stumbled on something bigger than just mental illness or imaginary friends.

" _So I'm Clint. Hi. Nice to meet you."_

" _I'm not introducing myself to a voice in my head."_

" _Ah. Last one dumped you, didn't it?"_

" _What?"_ she spluttered. " _No! I mean there wasn't- I never-"_

Clint snickers at having flustered her so much with so little effort.

" _Bit uptight that one."_

" _Hey! I heard that! And I'm not uptight, thank you very much."_

 _Oops_. Clint could hear her mental door slam shut and he confirmed it after calling her unsuccessfully for the next ten minutes. Well, now he _has_ to find her and give her flowers or some shit to apologize. So he goes to every hotel in the area to have a peak at their registry looking for a bloke named George and keeping an ear open for the snobby British accent that always stands out in a crowd of drawling Americans.

And what do you know? He hears her, and not in his head. It's a bit different: the tone softer, amused where he'd only heard mild annoyance and irritation. His head snaps around at the sound and he stares at the woman it belongs to. He didn't know what to expect but he's still surprised by the pocket sized woman with wild dark hair who walks right by him, chatting a mile a minute to a tall lanky redhead who is missing an ear.

" _Did she literally talk his ear off?"_

The woman stops dead in her tracks, right there in the middle of the hotel's lobby.

" _What?"_

She's in his head now.

" _What what?"_ he parrots back, rooted to the spot while his instincts are screaming at him to get the hell out of Dodge.

" _You're stalking me!"_ she accuses. " _What you just said… You're here. At least have the guts to face me."_

" _Right now, I'm not sure I want to. You're scary and I forgot the flowers in the last air duct."_

" _Flowers?"_

" _Yeah… I wanted to apologize for what I said before. Well, thought, technically. I didn't mean to."_

Ominous silence fills his mind for the next few seconds and he's so focused on his mental connection that he didn't even see her move to stand right in front of him until she calls his name.

"Clint?"

He flinches, then stares wide eyed down at her. She has eyes like Natasha's: burning and sharp, like jagged pieces of fire.

" _Why are tiny women so damn terrifying?"_

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," she says and is actually smiling at him now.

"That your bloke?" his red-headed friend asks as he looms behind her, pwering at him distrustfully.

Hermione glances around and shakes her head.

"Not here. Come on, they have quiet alcoves we can speak in at the hotel bar."

"I guess he wins in the looks department," the red-head mutters once they're seated. "If you like your men with two ears and arms like tree trunks that is."

"George!" the woman snaps. "You're the one who slipped me that potion so you'll bloody well suffer through the consequences. Maybe that'll teach you a lesson."

Clint is torn between preening at being told he's better looking, although he has no idea who his competition is supposed to be, and then he's just plain annoyed at being left out of the conversation again. He coughs politely to remind them he's here and waiting for some kind of explanation.

"Right, sorry. Yes. So this is George as you might have guessed. Seems the berk thought himself in love with me, but instead of asking me out like any normal bloke would have done, he gave me a potion to prove to me he was my soulmate, because that's a reasonable thing to do." She pauses long enough to roll her eyes and sip at her glass of wine. "He's a genius at potions, but completely clueless about women."

"Wait…"

Clint isn't a genius at anything but hitting the bullseye, and that doesn't take all that much thinking on his part, but he's not an idiot either. It's that potion that put them in contact, the potion that was supposed to reveal her soulmate…

"Ah. I see you've figured it out already."

"But… soulmates?"

"Yeah, I don't believe much in that crap either, to be honest. The fact we were both in New York when it happened seems a bit too coincidental too."

Clint nods. She could have been in her own country when it happened and he could have been anywhere in the world on a mission for SHIELD or the Avengers.

"So it actually just put you in contact with the most compatible male in a five mile radius?"

"To put it simply, yes."

She smiled approvingly and he had to wonder how compatible they were exactly, and on what grounds? Was this potion more of a Tinder or an OkCupid sort of deal?

"It's not a five mile radius. My potions are a lot more potent than that."

"Yes, because that's the important part," the woman snapped.

"Actually, I wouldn't mind an estimate. You know… for science."

She blinked, then burst out laughing.

"You mean for your male ego? Fine," she shrugged. "Go ahead, George. Dazzle us."

"Should be at least a hundred miles."

Clint whistles at the news. That's better than he expected.

"And how reliable is it?" he asks.

"100%" George mutters.

"Alright, so how do we stop this telepathy thing now," his perfect match in a hundred mile radius asks. "I thought it would stop now that we've met, but I'm still hearing him in the back of my mind."

"That's so not fair. I can't hear anything," Clint says. It's not any fun if it only works for her. "How do we stop it?"

George mumbles under his breath, glaring a hole into his cup.

"What was that George?"

He remains silent, sulking like a kid.

"Oh, you want me to ask your mother?" she needles.

She's ruthless. Clint likes her even more.

"You kiss," George finally huffs. "Come on, it's pretty obvious. And they say you're the brightest-"

That sentence ends in a painful grunt. Seems like the lady hath some mighty pointy elbows.

"So…" she says.

"We just have to kiss, right?"

He's not opposed. She's lovely when she's not scary, but it's a bit awkward sitting here in the middle of a hotel with a reluctant chaperon glaring at him.

"How about a date first?" she offers and his shoulders sag in relief.

"How about your name first?" he counters.


	9. Following Fate's Footsteps

**Pairing: Gen, Harry Potter & Matt Murdoch**

 **Rating: G/K**

 **Summary: Lady Fate sinsongs from the shadows: "Harry and Matt, sitting on a roof, T-A-L-K-I-N-G..."**

"What are you doing here?" Matt says in a low rumble like the approaching storm.

A head turns, slowly, almost lazily, towards him. Matt is ready for anything, and he's not fool enough to believe someone just happened to choose _his_ roof, of all the roofs in New York, for some leisurely star gazing. Luckily, his devil alter-ego hasn't been too badly beaten up lately, so whoever this is, they should be easy to take care of.

"You can see me?"

British by the sound of him. Young, no more than thirty, but weary beyond his years. It's in the tone of his voice, the tilt of his head.

"You didn't answer my question," Matt remarks and snaps one of his batons out, because after the day he's had, he's just as weary and doesn't have much patience left.

"Whoa there! Take it easy. I was just looking at the city is all. It looks different from here. I'm a tourist, in case you can't tell."

Matt relaxes. He can't hear any inflection of a lie in his words, his heartbeat is steady and his body temperature constant. Okay, so this idiot really did just happen to choose his roof of all places to sit down. He puts his baton back where it belongs and approaches his unexpected guest.

"Tourists don't usually wander into Hell's Kitchen," he says and sits next to him on the roof's edge, letting his feet dangle in the void beneath.

The city is quiet for once. He wishes demons would sleep in tonight, all night, but it's probably too much to hope for. The world doesn't stop spinning just because you're tired of its shit. If anything, it'll spin faster to make you lose all semblance of control.

"Hell's Kitchen?" the stranger laughs, but it tapers off to a stop. "You're serious… This place is really called that? Well, I guess it explains the costume."

The hand waving dismissively his way tells Matt he means his Daredevil suit. He frowns. It's not a _costume_. If anything, it's battle armor. A horned, blood-red armour. And it was meant to strike fear in people's heart's, not derisive dismissal.

"You're not very well informed for a tourist."

Because everyone knows there's a devil haunting the streets of New York. The other man shrugs.

"I prefer to wander. Let my feet, and Fate, take me where they will. I don't have much say in the matter anyway, just the illusion of it."

Matt's eyebrows shoot up.

"You don't believe in free will? In tracing your own path?"

"Not really, no. Sorry," he adds when Matt has remained silent for too long.

"I don't understand."

The only people he has met who held such an opinion were certifiably insane. Yet, this young man had seemed quite normal up to now.

"The very fact I'm sitting here minding my own business, and probably the only person in the whole bloody universe who can see through my cloak just happens to skulk by…" he sighs. "This isn't a coincidence. I literally had more chances to get hit by lightning while winning the lottery."

Matt frowns. He has no idea what the other man means by seeing through his cloak. As far as he can tell, he's just sitting there for _anyone_ to see. Maybe he is crazy, after all. Maybe his insanity ran deep and slow like the tides of the ocean, not readily visible like it was in most others. But, just to be sure, Matt reaches a hand towards him. The stranger doesn't flinch but tension runs through his body and his breathing hitches almost imperceptibly. Matt would have reached for his hand, but he had been wringing them together for the last few minutes, so he reaches for the man's cheek instead.

He's so surprised at the silky cloth that meets his fingers instead that a quite gasp escapes him. He shifts the material slightly between thumb and forefingers, because the friction of cloth and the movement of air should help him see this barrier, but there is nothing. No spark. Or rather, there is something tangible there that his special "sight" cannot see. There is no fire to it, no life.

"What is this?" Matt asks.

"The Cloak of Invisibility. It's supposed to hide anyone, from anything, even Death himself, and yet…"

"I can't perceive it. At all. It's as if its not even there, but my fingers tell me otherwise."

"So you see what I mean: meeting you isn't a coincidence. The odds are simply impossible."

"You're saying Fate brought us together? That sounds kind of…"

"Corny? Melodramatic? Ridiculous? I couldn't agree more. I'm not claiming to know _why,_ I'm simply stating a fact."

"You could just walk away," Matt tries to rationalize.

"Then we'd meet again under some utterly improbable circumstances, again and again, until Fate is done with you."

"But-"

"It's happened before. Quite frankly, I've given up trying to fight it. It's easier this way."

The man next to him looks and sounds so defeated, Matt isn't sure what to do or say. He doesn't _want_ to believe him. He can't imagine living like that: thinking his decisions don't matter, that he is a mere puppet reacting to the pull of a string… Matt likes to think he made a difference in the world, that his choices and decisions were his own, and had an impact. What was the point otherwise? Why go through all the pain and struggles?

"I hope you're wrong," he finally says.

"I don't think everyone is as badly affected as I am, if that's any consolation. But can you tell me there isn't one single event outside of your power to control that shaped you into what you are today?"

He's looking at his horns, his opaque red eyes, his mouth, the only "real" part of him showing which must have turned into one bitter line.

The truck. The spill of chemicals. The burns. The event that robbed him of his sight and turned the world on fire, turned him into the devil of Hell's Kitchen, made him into who he is today. Had it always been his fate? He nods his head at the stranger.

"Hang on to that feeling, and imagine sensing it with every step you take."

"I don't think I can. I'd probably go mad."

"Didn't you know? We're all a little mad here."

There is something profoundly wrong with this broken man trying to comfort _him._ Matt wishes he could do the same. If Fate did indeed bring them together, isn't that what is expected of him? But he's not good at this sort of thing. With clients, for his day job, he listens and sympathises and promises to right their wrongs. As Daredevil, he uses his fists. Now, both his skill sets seem inadequate. Foggy would know. He's good with people and would probably have the man laughing and feeling better about himself, about everything, in just a few minutes. That's a real gift. Foggy is like a healing balm. Matt has to stamp down on his urge to call him and tell him to take care of his new friend, but he can't, not when he knows so little about him.

Instead, Matt squeezes his shoulder in support, so he knows he's not alone, that he can see him through the cloak even if the rest of the world can't. Small comfort, but it's a start.


	10. Mr Nice Suit

**Mr Nice Suit**

 **Pairing: Phil Coulson/Harry Potter**

 **Rating: M**

 **Summary: Harry has an unhealthy fascination for the man in the nice suits who always walks into the coffee shop at ten past seven, right up until the day of the alien invasion.**

There he goes again. The man in the suit, as impeccable as ever. Punctual to the minute, too. As far as Harry can tell, Mr Nice Suit comes in every morning at ten past seven for a double cream coffee. He never sits down, to Harry's chagrin, but, just before he leaves the coffee shop, Mr Suit always takes a sip of his coffee. Harry holds his breath for just that instant, wishing he was that cup, or the cream that clings to the stranger's upper lip for a mere second before it's swiped away by the tip of a pink tongue.

Harry doesn't have a clue who the man in the suit is, or what he did. It's the suit he notices first: pressed to perfection, fitting like a second skin, the cut of which is meant to make him invisible if you don't pay attention, but cuts an impressive figure if you do. Sort of like the Muggle version of an invisibility cloak. Harry sat closer to the entrance once, to have a better look, and his suit was both as fluid as water and as full of sharp edges as ice. All of it screams danger, so of course Harry finds himself drawn to the suits, and then to the man wearing them.

Mr Suit looks so bland at first glance. Nothing stands out. It's all in the details: the crinkles around his eyes, the sardonic curl of his lip, the precision of the haircut, the strong, tanned fingers… Oh no, there was nothing dull about Mr Suit.

But then, one day, the man in the suit doesn't come for his morning coffee, nor the day after, or the one after that… Harry keeps coming everyday to watch the door at ten past seven, only to have his disappointment grow, then turn into sorrow at the thought something terrible must have happened to his stranger. A lot of terrible things happened to a lot of strangers during the alien invasion, so he really shouldn't be so surprised. He certainly shouldn't be mourning him or his perfect suits. That's just crazy talk.

Ten past seven. Harry glances at the door out of habit, because it's been over three months now, but as Mr Suit steps in, Harry drops his coffee in his lap.

"Bloody hell!" he mutters as he dances from one foot the other. "Hot, hot, hot."

Harry reluctantly makes his way to the bathroom to clean up. But… bloody hell! Mr Nice Suit is back! All this time he thought he was dead and he just appears out of the blue. Is this a sign? Should he go talk to the bloke? Harry is pants at chatting people up though. Even worse when he actually has a crush on them. No. Past experiences tell him it's best he keeps it simple and lusts after his stranger and his suits from afar, and just be glad aliens hadn't managed to wipe out such perfection.

Nodding to himself, Harry throws the paper tissue he's been using to salvage his trousers and… freezes. Something hard and cold presses against the back of his neck. Not a wand. A gun?

"Who are you?"

By Merlin and all the unicorns? It's Mr Suit. Right behind him. A shiver of delight runs down his back at the smooth voice tickling his ear and the sheer proximity of his suit. He's never been this close before, not even when he inspected his suit's texture by the entrance. But now, they're almost touching.

"Who do you work for?" Mr Suit insists, pressing the barrel harder into his skin.

Harry bites his lip. He really shouldn't be turned on right now. And maybe he should answer… The other man spins him around, fisting his ratty cardigan to hold him in place while his other hand aims his gun at his head. Yeah, he really should start talking now…

"I'm Harry. Hi. But I'm no one, really," he says and raises both hands like he's seen in the movies.

Mr Suit looks unimpressed. His gun keeps level with his temple. He has a very steady hand. It's sexy as hell. Nothing goes better with a sharp suit than a lethal weapon, and yeah, he realizes something must be seriously wrong with his mind… well, nothing new there. Hosting an evil piece of a soul for most of your life would do that to you.

"Your reaction when I came in was highly suspicious."

It's not a question but it begs an answer anyway.

"I'm a regular here, like you. I've been coming for almost a year, since before the alien invasion. I thought, when you didn't show up anymore, that maybe…" Harry turns his gaze away. Mr Suit has eyes that see right through him. "You know."

The grip on his cardigan relaxes, so Harry looks back at his stranger. Did he believe him? Even he thought he sounded pretty dumb.

"You remember me?"

Harry nods, a bit too emphatically. He forces himself to stop being such a bobble-head through sheer strength of will. Mr Suit probably thinks he's a complete and utter moron. Harry wishes he was half as suave and sexy as him.

"Why?"

The gun has disappeared now. Harry hadn't even notice him put it away and wonders where exactly he keeps it on his person. It's not as easy to conceal as a wand but Harry wishes he could pat down his suit and body search him, for curiosity a sake of course. Dammit, he really needs to get a leg over. His mind is so far in the gutter, he can't think straight when he answers.

"I-wanted-to-buy-you-coffee-but-I'm-not-very-good-at-flirting-so-I've-just-been-watching-you-instead."

It all came out in a rush and Harry's not sure Mr Suit understood at first because he looks very perplexed given the way his brow furrows. But then he chuckles and his eyes crinkle and goddamnit he's so sexy, Harry's trousers are becoming _very_ uncomfortable.

"Well, can't be worse than this. Sorry about it. I have… issues."

Harry laughs. That's an understatement if he ever heard one.

"How about _I_ invite you for coffee. As compensation for this little incident."

Harry agrees. Of course he does. One does not simply pass up an offer to sit with Mr Suit while he drinks a whole cup of double cream coffee. Hiwever, Harry isn't very good at making conversation. He's woefully out of practice since he left everything, and everyone, behind after the war, but asking for his stranger's name is pretty basic.

"You can call me Phil."

"I'm Harry… but I already said that."

Harry stares at the cream on Phil's upper lip. He wants to lick it off.

"So… what happened to you? Was it the aliens?"

Phil winces.

"Or maybe you don't want to talk about it? Right. Can't have been nice. But you look-" _Hot._ "Well."

"Thank you. It affected a lot of people. You were here that day?"

"I… erm… slept through it, to be honest."

His flat had enough wards to protect him from a nuclear blast, so he had only realized what had happened to the city when he stepped outside the next morning on his way to the coffee shop, only to be met by rubble and alien carcasses everywhere.

Phil laughs again. It's music to his ears.

"You're a strange man, Harry."

"But in a good way, right?"

Harry flashes him his lopsided smile. The one Hermione always told him made him look cute and innocent. Phil hesitates for a moment but nods. A second later he puts his empty cup on the table between them and takes out his phone with an apologetic smile. He reads a message which makes his eyebrows dive down. Not good news then. Harry knows this means the end of their coffee date, do he quickly writes down his number on a paper napkin.

"Sorry. I have to-"

"It's fine," Harry cuts him off because there is absolutely nothing to be sorry for.

He then leans over and tucks the folded napkin in the breast pocket of his suit, taking advantage of the situation to let his fingers slide over the smooth material. So soft. More than he expected.

"Call me?" Harry asks.

Does he sound a bit desperate? Yeah… maybe. But he can't bring himself to care.

"You know… I think I will. See you soon, Harry."

Harry watches Phil as he leaves. His suit doesn't even have a crease and Harry still doesn't have a clue where he keeps his gun. Phil walks briskly out the door and all too soon he is out of sight. Mr Nice Suit is much more of a mystery than Harry anticipated. He doesn't look like a cop. Maybe he's one of those federal agents. That would explain the gun. Harry can't picture Phil on the wrong side of the law though, not even after he held him at gunpoint in the loo for no reason except his own clumsiness.

Deciding he can't very well spend all day sitting there waiting for Phil to call, Harry gets up and spirits away the cup Phil had been drinking from. A bit creepy? Yeah, just a bit, but no one needs to know.

They see each other at the coffee shop every morning. Phil now comes in at five past seven, and Harry can't help but think it's so they can talk for a few minutes before he has to leave, because that's exactly what happens. It's the highlight of his day. Phil hadn't used his number for a proper date yet, but Harry doesn't push. They have time, and the way he sometimes catches Phil watching him gives him hope.

On the ninth day of this routine, Phil comes in with a black eye.

"What the bloody hell happened?"

Phil seems amused by his reaction.

"You Brits are so proper even when you swear."

Okay, so he was only amused by his turn of phrase.

"I know a deflection when I hear one," Harry mutters, crossing his arms in front of him. "You won't tell me?"

Phil glances around at the other patrons then lowers his voice, leaning closer to him.

"I _can't_ tell you."

"Umph. So you _are_ a fed. Thought so. Just be careful out there, okay."

Phil nods and he has this strange look in his eyes as he bids him good day once more. Harry is not the least bit reassured however. Phil's suits, as nice as they are, are not bulletproof. What if the next time, it's a bullet coming at him instead of a fist? It's not out of the realm of possibilities, quite the contrary, and Harry suddenly has a very bad feeling, so foreboding it crushes him on the inside. He's always trusted his instincts and it's kept him alive so far… Jumping out of his seat, Harry runs out of the coffee shop just in time to see Phil disappear down the road. He follows him at a distance, then throws his Invisibility cloak over himself the first chance he gets. He can follow Phil closely now, but only then realizes this is a whole new level of creepy he's indulging in.

 _Just for today,_ he tells himself. _Just so I know he's not in any danger._

Phil doesn't work far, but the building he enters doesn't give him any indication of what his line of work is. Harry only manages to get past security by keeping a close proximity to Phil, although he's very careful not to let the cloak flap anywhere near him. Dead giveaway that, feeling fabric that isn't there, even if he's seen people brush it off as cobwebs in the past. However, this building has probably never seen a cobweb in all its existence. It's so clean, Harry could probably eat right off the floor. Not that he would, but he could.

Phil suddenly stops in the middle of a hallway. He doesn't glance around but he is listening, very intently. Harry knows it's not him he's listening for. He was careful enough to cast silencing charms on himself but it doesn't stop him from holding his breath. Was it something else? He isn't casting a shadow, technology shouldn't be able to pick up any trace of him under the cloak… Harry doesn't have time to ponder further. Phil sets off at a quick pace and enters a room, closing the door so fast behind him, Harry barely had time to slither in and his cloak ripples around his ankles.

Phil is too focused on the door to notice. He leans against a long conference table facing it, looking nonchalant even though he is anything but. Harry knows it because Phil has his gun in hand -and where it was exactly remains a mystery- and he's muttering under his breath. Harry has never seen him look so agitated before. Not even when he confronted him in the coffee shop's bathroom. So Harry is ready too, wand in hand. He won't let anything happen to Phil.

Finally, the door handle turns. Harry holds his breath once more.

"I thought it was you," a man says as he pushes his way in.

He doesn't look like a nice man despite the smile on his face and his suit is rumpled in all the wrong places. Harry knows those kind of men who smile without it reaching their eyes. They're usually the most cruel of the lot. Phil is right to be weary, his gun aimed true at the stranger's heart.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"We were never friends, Johnson. What do you want?"

"Well," Johnson says as he lazily takes out his own gun. "I wanted you to stay dead, but I heard rumours, so I went to check out your old haunts and imagine my surprise when I saw you at that shabby old coffee shop."

Harry frowns. He likes the berk even less now.

"Always knew you had no taste," Phil replies smoothly. "And now what? You shoot me, I shoot you? And all that for what? Because you're hoping to be promoted to my position? It won't happen. You're barely adequate as a level five agent."

Harry has no idea what they're talking about, but surely this duel to the death can't just be about promotions in the workplace. He knows the job market is fierce in the Muggle world, but still… Then Johnson laughs and the sound is pure evil. A cackle worthy of the deranged Bellatrix Lestrange. Insanity, he understands better.

"Oh, I'll shoot you. No doubt about it, but you…" In one dramatic flourish, Johnson opens his vest to reveal some wires and a metal plate. "Forcefield. You can't-"

A gunshot echoes through the room.

"Just testing out that theory," Phil explains calmly.

Harry thinks he may just be a little in love, and not only because of the suit.

"I will end you. Hail Hydra!"

Phil ducks as Johnson aims for him, but there is nowhere to hide and his gun is useless. Harry knows it's up to him now. He stupefies the living shit out of the moron, the red light inundating the whole room and giving away his position. After a cursory glance at Johnson who Harry knows is out of commission for at least the next six hours, Phil trains his gun on his approximate position.

"Show yourself," he commands and by Merlin, that voice never ceases to do unmentionable things to him.

Harry could probably escape. He should in fact. Statute of Secrecy and all that, although that law is a lot more tolerant since the alien invasion. Harry takes a few steps towards the door.

"Stop," Phil says.

How the hell did he know? Harry could stun Phil too, but he really doesn't want to and he can't leave him with the other nutjob in case he wakes before Phil and finishes what he started. Well… alright… plan B then. Plan A never works out anyway. It must be a rule of the universe. Sighing, Harry takes off his cloak.

"Hello again," he says with an awkward wave.

"Harry," Phil says as if he can't quite believe it. "Harry?" he repeats as if trying to convince himself. "I knew you were too good to be true."

"I am?"

"Was."

"Oh," so he messed it up. Again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to follow you. I just had a really bad feeling when you left."

Phil looks steadily at him, but, just like the first time, the barrel of his gun drops just a fraction.

"What are you?"

What? Well, that was a bit insulting, but what with aliens and mutants roaming the Earth, maybe he had a point. The world had become a strange place.

"I'm a wizard. I'm human."

"Magic?"

Harry nods cautiously.

"I don't like magic much," Phil replies, rubbing his chest.

Harry deflates.

"But you saved me. Thanks for that."

Harry squirms, not knowing what foot to stand on now. Is Phil going to arrest him? Ignore him? Kill him? No, the latter doesn't seem likely since he put his gun away, and once more, Harry completely missed the gesture. Phil then inspected Johnson's prone form.

"You do know you killed this agent, right?"

"What? But I just stunned him!" Harry exclaims as he joins Phil's side to look down at… and yep, that's a very dead body right there. "Damnit!"

Harry doesn't take lives lightly. He'd rather not do it at all.

"Looks like your spell reacted badly to Johnson's forcefield. See the way the wires melted here?"

"Electrocuted?"

Phil nods then turns to look at him.

"It wasn't your fault. But can you just confirm what he said right before you fired your spell at him?"

Harry thinks carefully about it, but as far as villains go, this one hadn't monologued too much.

"I will end you. Hail Hydra," he parrots back in a fair imitation of Johnson's last words.

"Uhm, that's what I thought."

"Not good?"

"No," Phil chuckles humorlessly before he stares at him again. "Say, I don't suppose you would have like to work for a secret organisation within a secret organisation to take down an evil secret organisation embedded within the first secret organisation."

"Well… depends who I'll be working for, I suppose.'

"For me, essentially. I could use your skills, those I know of, at the very least, since I suspect there's more to you."

Harry hums in thought. He'd love nothing better than to stay at Phil's side but he's still a bit reluctant about joining another fight. On the other hand, owning a coffee shop isn't half as exciting as he thought it would be.

"How evil is this secret organisation?"

"World domination and mass murder of civilian population level."

Saving the world then. He could easily defend his use of magic amongst Muggles to the ICWW in that case.

"Alright. I'm in... on one condition."

Phil raises a brow.

"And what's that?"

"I'm allowed to shag my boss. I don't want any of that sexual harassment and fraternization bullshit to come between us if I work for you."

Phil barks out a laugh.

"I think I can agree with that."

"With your suit on."

And there's that blush that Harry has been dying to see on Phil's handsome face.


	11. Poking Trolls with Sticks is a Terrible

**Poking Trolls with Sticks is a Terrible, Terrible Idea**

 **Rating: T**

 **Pairing: Bruce Banner/ Pansy Parkinson**

 **Summary: Sometimes, Bruce and the Hulk work well as a team.**

Usually, Bruce refused all invitations to speak at conferences, symposiums, lectures… it's not that he was shy or didn't like giving them. He loved it. But the Other Guy and crowds of people stuffed in small rooms did not mix well.

But Tony, the nosy bastard that he was, had gone through his mail and told him he was being stupid because he had much better control over the giant beanstalk lately than he had any right to living with crazy people who were loud and pushed you around for no other reason than to get to the coffee pot first before it was empty. True, he had never Hulked out since he had moved into the Avengers tower, not accidentally at least, because there was always a good reason to invite the Other Guy out to smash a giant squid or a flock of doombots.

So Bruce had accepted the invitation to London to give a lecture on how gamma-radiated Higgs-Boson particles modified any given quantum field. A stutter escaped him at first because it turned out that after so much time keeping to himself and living like a hermit, crowds were making him anxious, and anxiety was the first tumble down the green hill of rage. So he had followed Tony's advice - well, almost - by imagining he was talking to an empty room - instead of a bunch of naked strangers as he had recommended.

Of course, it was an illusion he couldn't keep up when he wrapped up his speech and came to the obligatory Q&A part of his presentation, because pretending he was talking to chairs was just too weird, even for him. However, he had relaxed enough then that all was going smoothly. Even the dumbest questions didn't ruffle him. When the audience began to leave, Bruce waited for a bit so he didn't get stuck in the bottleneck at the doors. He never knew how the Other Guy was going to react to the unexpected jab of a sharp elbow or pointy heel. He was so relieved when he made it out of the auditorium and into the hall with no incident to speak of that he didn't notice when a woman came barreling in his direction until it was too late.

She knocked the wind out of him but he was careful to keep his breathing under control. Everything was fine. No one was after him. No one was going to hurt him. It was just an accident.

"I'm so sorry," the woman said, but her voice was wobbly and he feared he had been the one to hurt her.

"No, no, it's fine. Are you alright?"

He had the breath knocked out of him again when she looked up at him because she was… well… gorgeous despite looking like a female Tony with her sleek black hair and black eyes that glittered like the moonless night sky, and damnit, now he was waxing poetic and staring like an idiot with his mouth open. Say something!

"Are you sure? You don't sound-"

"Pansy!" a man snapped as he took long strides towards them.

The woman cowered, shoulders hunched, head bowed like she was carrying the Atlas on her back. The sight made Bruce growl. Not the Hulk. _Him_. Bruce didn't recall ever doing that without turning green, but he knew what was going on here and he couldn't tolerate it. He stepped in front of the woman.

"Get out of my way, you filthy muggle," the man snarled, spittle flying around.

Bruce scowled and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. Okay, his clothes were a bit rumpled and he really should have shaved that morning, but he'd been running late. Still, rude. And what was a Muggle? British slang? Rude too, no doubt.

"I am not getting out of the way," he said, struggling to keep his temper. "You need to calm down unless you want me to call security to throw you out."

The man ignored him completely.

"Pansy. Come _here_. Don't tell me you're such a useless bitch you're going to hide behind some _muggle_ scum. That's low, even for you."

He laughed and yep, that was definitely an insult. Bruce glanced around, but the hall had emptied quickly given the late hour.

"Go away, Theo. I told you we were over. Just let me be. Stop following me, or… or…"

"Or what? No one's going to want to help you, Pansy. Everyone knows you tried to sell Potter out to save your own hide. Come. Here."

The woman didn't reply, but she shuffled behind him and Bruce feared she was going to give in and obey like she had probably done a hundred times before. He couldn't abide domestic abuse. Bruce could understand she felt trapped and isolated while this man was threatening and no doubt beating her into compliance, but he couldn't just leave and pretend he didn't know. He couldn't live with himself if he did, and judging by how the Other Guy was beginning to stir, he couldn't either.

He slowly spread his left arm back to stop her from moving past him and return to this pathetic excuse of a human being.

"Go away," he growled at the man. "The lady told you she wanted to be left alone."

The man's face twisted in disgust and he took a smooth stick out of the inside pocket of his long vest to point it at him. Bruce stared at it, going a bit cross eyed from its proximity. Fighting with sticks? Was this another British thing? Should he go find a stick too? Would they fuel to the death by stick? It might take a while…

A bluish light shot out, hitting him square in the chest. It hurt, briefly, but enough that he was impressed, and The Hulk was _pissed._

"You asked for it," he said, his voice turning deep and gravelly as he grew large and green.

"Puny man," Hulk said and grabbed his attacker in one fist, squeezing and squeezing, watching him squirm like a big fat worm with a wicked grin while his foot crushed into fine dust the stick he had used to hurt him.

A whimper behind him reminded him the pretty lady was still there and had been close to Banner when he let him out. He threw the vile man over his shoulder, ignoring the crash and subsequent groan. He slowly shuffled around, careful his feet didn't smash her by accident. The pretty lady had huge eyes like the galaxy as she craned her neck up to see him.

"I- ah, thank you. That was, erm, very brave of you."

She was the brave one. Hulk could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who did not go running and screaming the first time they met him. She was holding out her hand to do the shaky-hand thing. The logistics were complicated with such a tiny hand so he held his index out and she let out a high-pitched giggle before grasping it in both hands and shaking it.

"Thank you," she said again, more softly before she took a shuddering breath and began crying.

Uh-oh. No, no. No crying. Hulk did not like crying. Banner! He needed Banner. He was good with crying. Did enough of it himself, the wimp.

Bruce was shrinking. One of his hands was trapped but his other quickly caught his ripped pants before he could traumatize the poor woman anymore. She was crying… of course she was. She had left her alone with the Other Guy. He was such an idiot.

"Hey, hey. Don't cry. I'm sorry. Did he hurt you?" he asked, trying to sound confident and reassuring when he mostly felt awkward and a bit cold.

She sniffled and wiped her eyes, dragging streaks of mascara down her cheeks. He tried not to smile but it was cute in a terrible way.

"No. You got rid of him when you turned into a troll. You don't remember?"

Bruce shook his head. A troll? The British were very strange people. But at least the Other Guy hadn't hurt her. Quite the opposite by the sound of it, playing the knight in shining armour. He was almost proud of the guy. She didn't seem scared of him though. Maybe she was one of those strange Hulk fans.

"I don't remember most of the time. Sorry about that. Can I walk you back home? Or get you a taxi? I would feel better knowing you get home safely."

"What about… him?" she asked, glancing towards the man still groaning in a corner.

Bruce must not have hulked out for too long if he was still conscious. He wondered why.

"He can stay there for all I care. He should count himself lucky he's still breathing. Not everyone walks away from the Hulk after picking a fight with him."

"The Hulk? That's the green troll?"

"Troll?"

"You're not some kind of were-troll?"

Bruce shook his head. He had no idea what she was talking about.

"I'm… the green guy is The Hulk."

She was the one to shake her head this time. Not a Hulk fan then. He was relieved, to tell the truth. Those people asked the most embarrassing questions about his anatomy.

"Well, you're not a Muggle in any case, so let me help you with your clothes." She tittered. "Or lack thereof."

She drew a stick from her sleeve too. What was up with these Brits and their sticks? Before he could react, his clothes, most of which were only shreds lying around the polished floor, began swirling in the air, stitching themselves back together around him until they were like new. Upon closer inspection, they were actually in better shape than they had been before the Hulk outgrew them.

"On a scientific level, what you did is so very wrong I almost feel offended."

She smiled shily at him.

"Care to show me more?" he asked, fascinated with her on more than one level.

"I know a good place just around the corner. The food is good and I can show you more magic there. If you're very unlucky, we might even see a full troll."

He knew she was teasing him the way her eyes glimmered, but he would be stupid to refuse such an invitation even if there were real trolls there. He offered his arm like the gentleman he wasn't and she slipped her hand on it without hesitation despite knowing what he was. Bruce was going to kiss Tony for convincing him to come here.


	12. Tale of the Burrowed Hammer

**Tale of the Burrowed Hammer**

 **No pairing / Gen**

 **Rating: G / K**

 **Summary :** **Mjolnir will not come back to him, so Thor goes to his hammer and finds it in a very confusing place.**

"Oh, hello dear. Are you a friend of Ron's? He's out degnoming the garden for me with the little ones if you need him."

Thor stared at the matronly woman. He had thrown his hammer a bit too hard, a bit too far, and for the first time, it had not returned to him. He had thus resolved to retrieve it by foot and had been walking for some days, following the almost imperceptible pull at the tip of his fingers that gave him a vague direction to follow.

His quest had led him to this quaint wooden hut which seemed to have grown like an unruly, gnarly tree. He had knocked at the thick wooden door. He wasn't a savage. And upon receiving a summons to enter, had found the pudgy little woman with the hair the color of flames.

"I do not know this Ron you speak of, my lady," he said with a small bow. "I have been on a long search for my trusty hammer, and it has led me to your humble abode."

"A hammer… A hammer, you say? Yes, I did find a pretty hammer a few days ago. It needed a good polish though. You should take better care of your tools, young man, or they will let you down when you most need them."

"You… polished my hammer?"

"Oh, yes. Full of grime and mud, it was. It's nice and shiny now. Or it was. I think one of the kids is using it to degnome the garden now that I think about it."

"No, no, no. That cannot be my hammer. Only I have the strength and fortitude to wield Mjolnir."

"Now that's just silly, dear boy. What's the use of a hammer only one person can use? What if someone else needs it to hang a picture, uhm? And why would you give a name to a hammer? If I started giving names to my spoons and forks, I would never be able to remember them all. Not to mention it would make licking them a bit awkward."

Thor decided the woman was a bit mad, and despite it being quite rude, answered none of her questions, asking one instead.

"This Ron is outside, yes?"

She nodded and shooed him out towards the back door, through the kitchen which smelled of roasts and pies worthy of the kitchens of Asgard itself. As he fled outside, he began to doubt they were speaking of the same hammer, but as it was his only lead, he had to follow it through. Thor easily found his quarry. The hair like fire easy to spot in all the greenery, especially when there were several of them. They were making merry as they hunted little creatures, tossing them into the air once caught, or hitting them over the head with-

"Mjolnir!"

The only adult there stood at his exclamation and looked him up and down.

"Erm… Mjolnir to you too, mate. You a friend of Hermione?"

"I do not know this Hermione you speak of, son of fire. And Mjolnir is the name of my hammer, not a greeting."

The man's cheeks flamed red too. Fascinating. Maybe they were really made of fire, like the Jotun were made of ice.

"Oh. That makes more sense," he said and came to shake his hand. "I'm Ron. If it makes you feel any better, my broom has a stupid name too."

Thor ignored that last part. He was doing that a lot since wandering into this place.

"And I am Thor Odinson. Well met, Ron."

"No I don't think we have, but your name does sound familiar," he said scrunching his nose in thought, before he shook his head. "Anyway, you're here for that hammer, right? Rosie! Toss the hammer over to daddy, sweety!"

Thor watched in consternation as a tiny little girl who looked like a gust of wind might knock her over, skipped the garden with his hammer in hand, before stopping at her guardian's call and throwing the hammer his way with ease and grace. Ron caught it with equal ease.

"Funny thing your hammer. Whoever did the enchantments did an amazing job. George has been taking notes to replicate it for his shops."

Thor was horrified. His hammer was unique and meant to stay so.

"Oh, don't worry. He'll gladly accept to pay you royalties or something."

"I think I will I just take my hammer and go," Thor replied, not sure why he would want royalties when he was already one himself.

Besides, these people were making him nervous using his hammer as if it were a mere toy. Ron was currently tossing it with one hand before catching it again as he spoke. Thor feared they had broken his beloved Mjolnir with their strange ways. So far, three of them had been able to wield his hammer, which made a lot of contenders to his throne.

"You sure? I'm gonna miss having this hammer around. We had a contest at the family gathering yesterday to see who could throw it the furthest."

By Odin… No.

"And how large is your family?"

"Twenty? Thirty? You know what? I quite lost count and I'm not even including the cousins."

Thor plucked the hammer out of the air when Ron next tossed it up absentmindedly.

"I am sorry, but I have urgent need to leave and have a word with my father," Thor said as he twirled Mjolnir to get as far away from this unholy land as soon possible.

The people of fire happily waved him off as he flew away. Thor did not stop until he had put a whole sea between them, and he swore to never step foot again in the land of Eng.


	13. A Whole Other Kettle of Fish

**A Whole Other Kettle of Fish**

 **Paring: Clint Barton/Hermione Granger**

 **Rating: M**

 **Summary: In retaliation for a prank, Fury sends Clint and Tony hunting for mermaids.**

"Are we being punished?" Clint asked. "Because I feel like we're being punished."

"Nah," Tony replied as he dropped his faceplate, his voice turning robotic as he did so. "Fury would never do that to us. We're his favourites. Well, I am. You're like the team mascot."

"He's making us look for _mermaids_."

"Yeah, but what if we _find_ mermaids? Honestly, it's not so far fetched after all the shit we've seen."

Clint's expression went glazy for a second before he shook his head.

"Wait, are we talking Disney's little mermaid here, or one of those things with all the teeth in that horror movie you made us watch last night? Thanks for that, by the way. I feel great about diving in deep, dark water right now."

"Hey, whichever rocks your boat. I'm not judging."

Their SHIELD pilot signed it was time to jump and Tony dived headfirst into the Atlantic. Clint wasn't as eager despite all the latest toys he'd been equipped with to go exploring the ocean. Last time he was ever pulling a prank on Fury. The punishment was really not worth the laugh. With a sigh, Clint pushed off the side of the Quinjet and braced himself for the cold water, surprised when the shock didn't come once he was immersed.

"Pretty neat, uh?" came Tony's voice through the com, loud and clear. "Took a couple of hours to upgrade the diving gear last night."

"Did you sleep at all?"

Tony snorted, which was answer enough. One day, that man was going to keel over from either exhaustion or coffee overdose.

"So… any idea where we should look?"

"Supposedly, there's a few reports of mermaid activity in a five mile radius from here so I suppose we'll just swim about for a while until Fury feels vindicated and call it a day."

They did just that and Clint was actually relaxing as he played around the currents while he listened to Tony muttering about how to improve the waterproofing of his suit. It was about an hour in when his awesome goggles-he-was-keeping-for-life-after-this-mission picked up some activity.

"Tony," he hissed.

The mutterings cut off, Ironman's chest light spinning from horizontal to vertical as he scanned the area. Then he was off like a shot while Clint had to struggle to swim after him.

"Herding them towards you, Clint. Get ready to grab one."

Clint's eyes widened when he saw pale figures with long hair streaming behind them come right at him.

"Please don't be like that horror movie," he prayed as he made a grab for the smallest of the two.

He missed by an inch when the second one barreled into him on purpose to protect her. Not one to miss an opportunity twice, he spun around just in time to catch this one around the waist, which is when he noticed a distinct lack of fishtail.

"Hey! That's not a mermaid!" he protested.

"And yet, they're breathing underwater," Tony argued. "Look, no diving gear or anything, and that's not flippers she's wearing."

Clint looked down to see the weirdest feet in existence. Definitely not made for shoes.

"Huh!" was all the answer he could muster while the maybe-mermaid wriggled against him to get free.

However, Clint was an octopus-level hugger. He had arms like fucking tree trunks and nobody escaped his hugs if he didn't want them to. Unless they had a crowbar stashed somewhere like Natasha.

"Watch out!" Tony cried out as a red light bolted their way

Clint tried to swim out of the way, but he was even slower than before with a prisoner and his catch got hit instead of him. Her struggling ceased immediately as she went unnaturally still.

"Oh, fuck me sideways. My mermaid got hit."

"I'm getting us out of here. Hang on."

Tony grabbed him by his harness as he held on to his mermaid, shooting up into the air and straight for the Quinjet hovering nearby. The pilot looked as startled as Clint felt that they had returned with what they'd come looking for, and man was he glad they'd thought of preparing a fish tank for transport. It was just in case. They hadn't actually come to sea to kidnap a mermaid, but with an injured one on their hands, it seemed like they didn't have much of a choice.

"I don't see any wound," Tony said as he scanned her. "Looks like she's just… sleeping? Do fish sleep?"

"Don't think it matters. She's not much of a fish, is she?'

Clint sat cross-legged in front of the tank as it headed back to the helicarrier, taking the opportunity to look at his catch. Honestly, she just looked like any woman on the beach. She even had a swimsuit on for crying out loud. But on closer inspection, her long palmed feet, her webbed hands and gills on her neck were decidedly not human.

"Could just be mutant," Clint said.

"There was another though. From those mutants we know of, there's never two with exactly the same powers, especially when they're physically visible.

Clint hummed in agreement as he stared at her long locks swaying around her, giving an ethereal air to something already so unbelievable. A chuckle escaped him as he imagined their imminent landing.

"What's up?" Tony asked.

"Fury is gonna flip his shit when he sees we actually found one."

Fury grumbled "I can't fucking believe this" and turned on his heels.

"Told you we were being punished," Clint said. "What do we do now?"

"You take her down to the med bay and I'm flying my pretty face back to Manhattan to pluck the seaweed from my cracks."

"Too much information, Tony. Why am _I_ babysitting the giant goldfish?"

"Because I was only an accomplice in your little prank, so I get the lesser sentence. Have fun, birdbrain!"

Tony shot off into the sky, blasting loud music. At least he had helped him put the water tank on a cart before ditching him.

"Just you and me now, beautiful. Let's go find out what's wrong with you."

But as he rolled through the corridors, Clint noticed his quarry was drawing too much attention and it felt wrong, as if he was exposing some monster at a carny's freak show. He stopped at the next storage room to grab a blanket and threw it over the tank before going on his merry way.

The doctor confirmed there was nothing wrong with her, except for the fishy parts of course. She was, for all intents and purposes, sleeping, and he just needed to wait for her to wake up. Not the most exciting of missions, but he did feel sort of responsible for her current state, so he sat on the ground facing his mermaid, using the bedpost to prop against. He took advantage of the downtime to dismantle his bow and finetune it. Ideal in the quiet of the medical bay.

He glanced at the mermaid every now and then. She was even prettier under the harsh lights of the helicarrier despite all the gills and stuff. A Disney mermaid for sure, although… he'd have to check her teeth weren't like razor blades. Thanks Tony. Honestly. Nightmares for life. Ten minutes into his watch, a dull thud drew his attention back to her, then another. She was… thrashing around. Violently. Something was wrong. He called for the doc and tried to keep her from hurting herself, her head especially, which is how he noticed her gills were disappearing, leaving only smooth skin behind, and she was still breathing in water. She was… drowning. His mermaid was drowning!

"Fuck!" he groaned as he pulled her out.

She was lighter than he expected and he toppled back with her, but kept his arms tight around her so he could cushion her fall. But she was wet and cold and not breathing. He'd been too late. Going over CPR steps in his mind, he quickly laid her out on her back and gently tilted her chin up to open her airways. Still no breathing. He placed his hands, one over the other in the center of her chest and pushed, hard and fast, again and again, but not too hard, because he had literally crushed a training dummy once and that had not been a pretty sight. Then Clint readjusted the tilt of her chin and pinched her nose shut, and just real quickly checked her teeth. Standard, pearly white, non razor sharp teeth, thank God.

He sealed his lips over hers and blew air into her mouth. The chest rose. Good. Another, and then the compressions.

"Come on, come on…" he muttered.

And where the hell was the doctor? It felt like an eternity since he'd called him. It was probably just a minute, but still, a mermaid had the time to drown over here! He repeated the steps twice more, and when he had started to lose hope, she coughed up water and opened bleary eyes that stared right at him.

"Huh," she said.

Okay. Not a bad start.

"Cold."

Look at that! Mermaids spoke english! She started to shiver though.

"Oh, right. Cold."

Clint pulled the blanket he had nicked in the storage room and rolled her into it before heaving her off the wet floor and into a bed, just as the doctor skidded to a halt in front of him.

"Sorry! Emergency on the deck. What's…"

"Yeah, see here. Turns out my mermaid is not a mermaid anymore. I'm sure Fury is gonna love this new twist. She drowned and now she's cold."

The doctor gaped. Oh, he was a green one alright. He actually looked too young to be a real doctor. Clint snapped his fingers in front of his face and Doogie Howser finally got moving while his mermaid watched him warily.

When they were finally alone again, Clint approached her, grinning stupidly because her hair was one wild tangle of hair that looked more like a lion's mane than anything fish related. The way she tracked his movements were quite reminiscent of a cat too, just like Tasha. He wondered if they could hire her. She could be Aquagirl, but without all the accidentally drowning part, because that was plain embarrassing.

"Hi. I'm Clint," he said simply and offered her his hand to shake.

She took it after a few seconds hesitation and shook it, staring wide eyed at his arms when his muscles flexed. She blushed and dropped her eyes.

"Hermione."

Her voice was rough. Probably because of the salt water.

"So, how many days a month are you a mermaid? Or is that a full moon thing? Did the whole fishtail look go out of fashion or something? Too traditional for you youngsters?"

She laughed at his stupid jokes and he kept talking her ear off because she couldn't say much without hurting her throat. He thought maybe it was made worse by her former gills.

Not too long after, a soft pop startled him out of his one sided conversation and he cursed himself for having left his bow in pieces on the floor. He had his backup however, and pointed the SHIELD standard-issue gun at the new threat. A petite woman in a swimming-suit, with long, pale blond hair and large blue eyes pointed a stick at him, looking angry.

"Aren't you-"

Clint was hit by the red light before he could finish his sentence but he had been sure she was the other mermaid. When he came to, the doctor was hovering over him and his lips tingled.

"Urgh, please tell me you didn't just kiss me," he muttered.

The doc looked affronted. Good. But his mermaid was gone. Not so good. Fury was going to chew him out, again. Walking reluctantly to the Director's office with his hands in his pockets, Clint felt a slip of paper brush against his fingers. Since he never put junk in his pockets, he stopped dead in his tracks and dug it out, unfolding it carefully.

 _I owe you a debt._

 _If you're ever in dire need,_

 _Hold this coin and say my name._

 _H._

Clint inspected the coin that had been stuck to the thick piece of paper and inspected it. It seemed to be made of solid gold but wasn't from any country he knew. It actually looked like an old coin from pirate's treasure chest and hey, maybe it was! She was half-mermaid after all.

Fury had not wanted to speak of drowning, disappearing mermaids and those who tried mysteriously found themselves relegated to scrubbing the deck with a toothbrush, so Clint had kept the pirate's coin on him. He'd arranged for his archery glove to have a hidden pocket just for it in fact and he now considered it his lucky charm because he'd never come completely unharmed from so many missions before.

And then, several months later, a really boring mission turned into a nightmare scenario worthy of its own horror movie in which he was the star. He was fucked. Trapped in a sewer, not exactly where he excelled, with enemies that weren't quite human closing in behind. He could have hidden out in the labyrinth of tunnels for some time, until he found a way out, but the water was fast rising due to the heavy rains and he had an inkling the things behind him didn't necessarily need to breathe. His heart was pounding hard, and he thought that this time, he was done for. Water was chest high now, his com was out, he was exhausted from running and evading his pursuers, but they never seemed to tire. When he was out of arrows, he knew the situation was dire.

Dire. Talk about an understatement.

He chuckled and took out his coin. Would it really work? He was afraid to hope, but he held it with both hands in front of his face and clearly said her name.

"Hermione."

Nothing. He let his head fall and clutched the coin in his fist, feeling stupid. He would just rest another minute and then waddle his way further down this tunnel.

But the coin warmed in his hand and he opened it to stare at the hold token just as a loud pop echoed against the stone walls, the sound carried by the water. It was immediately followed by a shriek and a splash.

"Bloody hell!"

Clint reached for her and helped her stay above water.

"Not a mermaid today?"

"It's not a full moon. What's going on?"

"Water rising. No exit. Things hunting me."

"Things?"

The hisses they made whenever they got close interrupted his answer.

"Things in cloaks, they're close," he warned.

She squinted down the tunnel, then jerked back with wide eyes.

"Lethifolds! A whole nest? You, mister, really need to watch where you're stepping. Expecto Patronum!"

Blinding white light shot down the tunnel and the hisses turned to screams of agony. Clint gaped at her. Did she just kill them? All of them? With just one shot? His arrows did nothing but irritate them, and she just-

"Problem?" she asked.

Clint shook his head.

"A place you need to be?" she offered.

"Somewhere with a shower would be nice.'

"I agree. I think I need one too, now."

Clint's eyebrows shot up. Was that an invitation? He didn't have time to clarify her meaning however because she told him to hang on tight, and suddenly, they were being pressed on all sides and jerked around space. Before he knew it, he was standing in a shower with her.

"Well… that was… efficient," he said, keeping his tone light, but thinking _what the actual fuck!_ Teleportation?

"I'm all for efficiency," she said and started to unbutton her waterlogged clothes. "And practicality."

"O-kay?"

Clint set his bow and quiver outside the shower curtain while she dropped her coat on the tiled floor next to it with a heavy splotching sound. He followed suit, one piece of clothing for every one of hers, until she had him at a disadvantage.

"Chickening out?" she asked.

"You were a lot shyer the last time we met," he remarked, not that he was complaining, mind, but still.

"I was not. I couldn't speak. And I may have been thinking of you… hoping you would contact me soon."

"You were hoping I would be near death?"

"Well, I will be too soon, of cold, if you don't finish getting undressed," she unhooked her bra and it joined the pile on the floor.

Not wanting to lose to her, he took off his boxers. Her eyes trailed down, and there was the charming blush he remembered. And he was cold, which didn't exactly show him at his best, despite his stirring interest. Her panties followed soon after, then hot water hit his back and he groaned in relief, closing his eyes to let the stream hit the top of his head. He heard her laugh and her soapy hands started rubbing circles over his skin. His shoulders, his arms, his chest, his hips, then she stepped flush against him to reach his bum, her breasts squished against him while her hands pinched his ass cheeks.

"Dear God, woman. You _are_ trying to kill me."

"I'll do my best," she promised.

Clint joined in on the fun, pushing her under the stream of steaming water first so she could warm up, then he enjoyed lathering her up, just as much as she seemed to be with him. It was fun and very arousing, intimate in a way he had never known except with Natasha. Hermione was special, and in more ways than the obvious magical, badass, monster-killer woman. He tilted her chin-up and pressed his lips to hers, glad it wasn't for CPR this time because this was much more enjoyable.

"Do you have a bed to teleport us to?" he mumbled against her lips, his lust-addled brain rather single-minded now about what it wanted.

"You know, people don't usually enjoy that mode of transportation."

"I've known worse," he said and lightly bit her bottom lip to let her know he was getting impatient, as if his hard-on pressing into her soft stomach wasn't enough of a clue.

She grabbed what he supposed was her magic wand and they landed all wet and still a bit soapy, on the bed covers.

"Maybe we should have dried off first," she admitted with a nervous chuckle, but a wave of her wand later and they were dry anyway.

"That's dead useful. Can I order one on Amazon?"

"Silly," she chided but she was grinning. "Now why don't you make yourself useful and look for a condom in that drawer."

"What? No magic condom?" he asked but rolled away to search for one.

She had a few other interesting items in there too.

"You really want me to use magic on your cock? You're either very brave or very foolish."

She took the foil wrapper from him and tore it open.

"Probably both," he admitted breathlessly as he felt the light brush of her fingers on him, slowly unrolling the condom.

"In that case I think you'll need another coin to call me the next time you're in a spot of trouble."

"Wow, wanting seconds before I've even started. I must be even better at this than I thought."

"We'll see about that. Now, why don't you put that smart mouth of yours to better use?"

Clint didn't need to be asked twice.


	14. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

**Mirror, Mirror on the Wall..**

 **Steve/Hermione/Bucky**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: Bucky is not happy with the ugly old mirror Steve hung in their appartement, especially when it turns out to be haunted.**

"Steve! Steve, get your puny ass here right now!"

Steve rolled his eyes but jumped off the fire escape where he'd been drawing and back into the Brooklyn flat he now shared with Bucky, knowing full well his friend wouldn't stop screaming until he did actually get his perfectly normal-sized ass where he wanted it. A light flush flooded his cheeks as he thought of where exactly he'd like to put his ass if he dared, but he affected nonchalance like a boss as he marched up to him, because he was Captain Goddamn America.

"What's up, Buck? Another spider cornered you?"

"Shut up," Bucky snapped, with mock anger.

Bucky pointed at the wall facing the window of their living room.

"What the fuck is this thing?"

"It's called a mirror, Buck. Or are you talking about your reflection, because in that case I understand why you're so frightened."

"I swear I'm going to kick the sass out of you one of these days, Steve. I meant: why is this ugly old thing here?"

"Again: you talking about yourself, pal?"

Bucky punched his arm with his metal fist and… ouch, that really hurt. Teasing had already reached its limit for today apparently. "It's an antique, Buck. Found it at the flea market yesterday. And it's not ugly, it's… unique. I like old things."

"Yeah you do, gramps," Bucky said with his patented killer-wink before turning serious once more. "I don't like it."

"It's just a mirror," Steve said, laughing it off.

"I thought…"

Bucky trailed off, sporting a troubled frown Steve hadn't seen since he got his friend back, all damaged and confused and lost.

"I thought I saw something… in the mirror."

His first instinct was to dismiss Bucky's concern, but heck, they had seen far stranger things than a haunted mirror. Steve nudged Bucky aside to have a good look at the mirror himself. It was oval with a large wooden frame carved out of leave patterns all around. He'd liked it. It had a history unlike the modern cold, rectangular slabs of mirror he had seen in the shops. But if there was more to it, or even if it was just causing distress to Bucky for no good reason, he was going to have to get rid of it.

Then he saw it too. Movement and a dark shape where there should be none.

"Fuck," he said while his goody goody Captain America subconscious berated him for such language.

"Told you," Bucky growled, his arm clicking in preparation of an attack as the metal plates shifted.

"What the hell is it?" Steve muttered.

They both leaned in, eyes narrowed, completely transfixed by the shape as it grew, and grew, and came into focus. Bucky let out a stream of curses as a face appeared. A distorted face that reflected neither of theirs. It banged on the other side of the mirror and Steve was tempted to take it off the wall to look behind. Bucky was growling at the thing.

"Should we… break it?" Steve asked.

"Dunno. That might free the ghost, right? Don't you have a Bible or something to exorcise it?"

Steve grimaced. His mom would be sitting him down for a very stern lecture if she knew he hadn't gotten a Bible for his new home, and that was putting it nicely.

"I could run out to get a priest…" Steve offered.

"Sell those on street corners nowadays?" Bucky muttered.

Another bang against the other side of the mirror made it vibrate and swing from its nail on the wall.

"Right, I'm throwing this thing out," Bucky decided and reached for it.

"Wait," Steve said, grabbing Bucky's arm midway.

He focused on the mirror. It was making a sound. A sort of wail, but if he listened very closely, it was almost like a word, only slowed down. He tried to put the sounds together. "Hell?"

"Sweet baby Jesus," Bucky exclaimed. "I'm setting fire to this thing."

"No, no. Wait, maybe it's saying hello?"

"The hell it is!"

The mirror bucked against the wall again and they stared at it, holding their breath while letters appeared, traced backwards like they used to do as kids on frozen windows during the harshest winters.

H… E… L… P

"Help! It needs help!" Steve exclaimed.

"Yeah, thanks Captain Obvious, but I'm not helping it. I bet it only wants out so it can eat the nice, tasty, super soldiers."

"But…"

"Don't be a dunce, Steve."

The mirror shuddered again and Steve could swear he heard a sob from the other side, the sound as low, slow and deformed as the cry for hell, or help as the case may be. But Bucky was probably right. Steve did tend to run head first into danger when he heard a cry for help, without pausing to think whether it might be a trap ot not. He still felt bad about ignoring it, whatever it was.

"We should find someone to check out this-"

As he looked at the mirror, he saw a small white hand pressed against the surface. A very human hand, only half his size, palm first as if supplicating, literally reaching out for help.

"Bucky," he breathed out, not caring it may have sounded like a whine.

"Fuck it," Bucky said and punched the surface before Steve could stop him.

Only the glass didn't shatter. Bucky's metal arm went right through the surface and seemed to suddenly slow despite his momentum. Tiny, beautiful frost lace immediately climbed up the metal arm.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Bucky said wide-eyed as he stared at the cold pattern racing past his elbow.

He tried to pull back his arm but barely managed to move it, as if it was trapped in a pit of tar. Steve stepped behind Bucky and grabbed him around his waist and torso to pull him back.

"Keep pulling!" Bucky said. "Wait! There's something… there's someone clinging to me. Pull harder, Steve. Harder!"

Steve blushed furiously at those words he had heard only in his dreams before, and in a wildly different context. He yanked back, his heel digging in their polished floor and probably leaving dents there. How was the mirror even still on the wall?

"It's working! One more pull! Come on!"

With one mighty heave, Steve wasn't fighting an opposing force anymore and he stumbled back with an armful of Bucky. He somehow managed to avoid the coffee table and hit the corner of the couch instead.

"Buck! You alright?"

Bucky was nodding, breathing hard. Steve glanced at the mirror to make sure it was not a threat anymore, only to find it floating in the middle of his living room. Well, that answered one question and prompted many others.

"What the heck is that thing?"

"Portal of some sort," Buck said as he shifted to sit up. "Fucking winter in there, worse than Russia in a blizzard, but it's got hot babes so who am I to complain?"

"What?"

Bucky turned to show off his prize with a shit-eating grin. He held an unconscious woman bundled in layers of wool and furs in his arms: pale with a blue tinge to her lips that didn't bode well.

"We have to warm her up," Steve said. "And call an ambulance."

Bucky glanced at her, then his metal arm.

"I'll call an ambulance. You know what to do," he said reluctantly.

Steve nodded and stood before taking the woman out of Bucky's arms, feeling like he was confiscating his favourite toy. He observed her as he took her to his bedroom: still shivering, that was a good sign, but unconscious, which wasn't. It might only be because she came out of a frigging mirror. Breathing was a shallow however. He put her in the middle of his bed and checked her pulse. Bit weak. She seemed to be suffering only mild hypothermia, but it could turn critical it he didn't rise her core temperature very quickly. With a scowl, he patted her clothes, deciding the outer layers had to go. Not wet, but damp enough as the frost-covered clothes began to melt.

"Sorry Ma'am," he muttered before pulling her clothes off as fast as he could: cloak, scarf, coat, another scarf, gloves, her boots. Her socks were wet so he took them off and her feet were freezing. He took a few seconds to rub them between his warm hands, if only to get the blood flowing, glad he was always warmer than average. Thanks super-serum. But he had to get her core temperature up and just the feet weren't going to cut it. He slipped in bed next to her and pulled all the blankets over them, tucking her in and placing her feet between his thighs, wincing at the cold even through the protective layer of his running pants. He wrapped his arms around her and breathed out, trying to relax around her like a friendly octopus. He had done what he could until an ambulance got here. Bucky walked in with a scowl.

"On their way. And Stark's here cooing at the floaty mirror."

"How the hell did he know?" Steve hissed, doing his best to keep his voice low.

"Said Friday alerted him we called for an ambulance and he was "worried"."

Bucky didn't need to make air quotes for Steve to hear them.

"Nosy bugger."

Bucky nodded and the bed dipped in front of him as he sat. before plucking the hat off the woman's head. Wild dark curls tumbled out and tickled Steve's nose.

"Bucky," he admonished.

"What? It was wet. Besides, it's cute," he added and Steve wasn't sure whether he was talking about her or the fact he was trying to flee the tickling curls while moving as little as possible.

"Make yourself useful and come under the covers. She's still shivering."

"Thought you'd never ask, buddy."

Steve narrowed his eyes at his friend through the hedge of curls. Was Bucky doing that on purpose? He was throwing more double-entendres his way today than he ever had before, but maybe he had simply never caught on before, or Steve was just hyper aware of the guy since he started fantasizing about his best friend in a not so friendly way. And dammit, he couldn't think about that right now, but Bucky was making that very difficult to ignore when he settled his limbs around the woman and him by extension. Buck was very careful to fold the cold metal arm under the pillow, but he used the other to warm the woman's hands and occasionally brushed against his own arm, sending tingles down his spine and straight to his cock. Steve shifted away from her and prayed for the ambulance to arrive quickly before he made an accidental pervert out of himself. On the bright side, he felt his embarrassment make him give off even more heat than usual. With two of them cocooning her in a blanket nest, she should warm up real quick.

"Do you think she's human?" Bucky asked, barely above a whisper.

"She looks it, but Thor and Loki look human too, so who knows? We'll have to wait for her to wake up to tell us her story."

"So we'll be seeing her again you think?"

"She appeared out of a magical mirror. You really think the suits are going to let her wander off willy nilly? She'll be interrogated and then, who knows? Depends if she's useful, or deemed dangerous-"

"You're starting to make me regret pulling her out of the mirror."

"She's the one who wanted out, remember? Probably would have frozen to death if you hadn't, so it's a moot point anyway."

Bucky hummed, his flesh hand drawing patterns on her warmer hands now. The tips of his fingers would sometimes slip onto his biceps and linger there a beat too long before resuming his coddling of the woman..

"We could keep her," Bucky said.

"Buck… she's not a thing or a puppy-"

"I know, I know. I mean… I found her and brought her here, so I'm sort of responsible for her now, right? If anything bad happened to her, it would my fault."

That accounted for how possessive he was being of the woman, which made his own jealousy uncoil from around his heart. He was being stupid, and selfish. Very un-Captain America. Bucky, on the other hand, only had this stranger's best interests at heart.

"We'll make sure she's treated right," he promised Bucky who smiled at him with a happy nod, just as the medics burst in with Tony in the lead.

"Well, isn't this cosy? You could have invited me to your little sleepover."

"Got a radiator packed in that suit?" Steve asked as he helped the medics by hefting the unconscious woman onto the stretcher, stepping back when they began wrapping her in silver and gold blankets.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"And you get affronted when people call you a glorified toaster."

"Ouch, Cap. Prickly, prickly. Got anything to do with that creepy mirror floating around your living room? Did it tell you you weren't the prettiest of them all?"

Steve scowled at him, stepping aside for the stretcher to roll pass them with Bucky in tow.

"Meet me there?" he said and Steve nodded because if Bucky was responsible for their frozen visitor, he was responsible for the mirror itself.

"Any idea what it is?" he asked Tony.

"I have zero idea. Like… not even one. Zilch. Nada. It's not sciencey, so I'm guessing magical. I already called for Strange to have a go at it and he should be here-"

The mirror suddenly crashed to the floor, the surface breaking in a spiderweb pattern, a few shards skittering across the floor.

"That's weird," Stark said, turning on him. "That's weird, right?"

"Not any more than when Bucky pulled a woman out of it, or when it started spinning around like a disco ball."

"Ooh. A flying disco ball! I kinda like that!"

"Tony," Steve said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Someone's been dabbling in magic," came a smooth voice behind them that made both of them jump.

"I swear I'm going to put a bell on him," Tony muttered before plastering on his fakest smile. "Strange! Thanks for coming, although I'd say you're a bit late. We had a self levitating mirror spitting out people, you see, but now it's- Oh well, never mind."

The mirror was putting itself back together and began floating again. Strange approached, humming appreciatively, then he did his glowy hand thing and the mirror dropped again, but did not break.

"So you know what it is?" Steve prodded.

"Uhm. I have an idea, but I'll need to do some research at the library. From what I can deduce on the spot, it's a portal to another dimension that feeds on magic. Someone emerged from it, you say?"

Steve nodded.

"Bucky pulled her out. She was calling for help."

"That person is no doubt magical in some way or other. I should go meet with her."

"She's at the hospital. The place on the other side of the mirror was really cold."

Strange picked up the mirror and opened a portal through which he dumped it on a table, then he closed it it and opened another to a hospital corridor. Steve had to admit, the guy was kind of annoying but he did have neat tricks. A shame he didn't want to join the Avengers. Not his area, according to him. He dealt in the metaphysical threats or something. Steve had stopped listening after a couple of minutes of not understanding a word coming out of his mouth. In that aspect, he was very much like Tony, except Tony wasn't so condescending about it. Strange might make a good ally in protecting the woman however, since she was magical according to him, even if it meant whisking her off to… wherever the heck Strange lived. He was leading him through the hospital's labyrinthine corridors as if he had a homing pigeon on the woman's magic, and they arrived just in time to see Bucky leaving a room, his flesh hand rubbing his sore cheek. He stared at them for a beat too long.

"She's awake," he muttered.

"Did she… slap you?" Steve asked. "Dames don't usually do that until the morning after. What did you do?"

"You know when we were debating what to do about the mirror?"

"Yeah?"

"Turns out she could hear us, loud and clear, so… well, she's not too happy with me. Said I was a trigger happy hobo who would rather shoot first and ask questions later rather than use my brain cells to deal with a delicate situation like a civilized human being. She didn't even need to catch her breath to get that insult out."

"To be fair, she's kind of right. Think I'll get slapped too if I go in there?"

"Doubt it. You were all for saving her from the start."

Steve looked at Strange, who smirked back.

"Lead the way, Captain."

With a huff, Steve squared his shoulders and pushed the door open, only to find their patient pulling a handful of wires off her body. She froze, caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

"Leaving so soon?" Steve asked as he cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't need a hospital," she said primly while she straightened the flimsy hospital gown.

Steve was taken aback by her British accent. He didn't know why. For all he knew she might not even have spoken any human language, or maybe she used the Allspeech like Thor, except Thor didn't have a British accent so it didn't make much sense…

"You were frozen half to death," Steve argued, then put on his sassy pants. "Or do you not remember me and Buck cuddling with you in bed to warm you up?"

Her cheeks turned bright pink.

"Where are my clothes?" she asked instead.

Strange pointed at a chair set against the far wall and she jumped off the bed.

"I really think-"

"Out. I'm getting dressed."

Steve scowled at her.

"Alright, I'm getting dressed whether you're here or not. Didn't peg you for a peeping Tom."

A blush crept up his cheeks and he turned tail. The woman was a menace. He hoped Strange got her out of their hair. At the door, he noticed the other man hadn't followed him.

"Strange?"

"Oh, I'm not leaving."

"What?"

"I'm calling her bluff."

Steve paused and looked back and forth between her and Strange as they had a staring stand-off.

"Fine," she said and crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you want?"

"An explanation would be nice," Steve said. "Who are you? Where are you from and why are you here? How did you come out of my mirror, and should we expect more visitors to pop out?"

She mulled over his questions then asked one of her own, unsurprisingly. That seemed to be a trait of hers.

"You don't seem all that surprised by what happened. Is that a normal occurrence around here?"

"Well, mirror aside, Strange here uses portals all the time, so…" Steve shrugged.

"Really?" she asked, turning her attention to Dr Strange.

"Dr Strange, Sorcerer Supreme," he said and offered her his hand.

She frowned and shook it absently, once more asking more questions instead of introducing herself.

"Sorcerer. Magic?"

He nodded.

"Are there many other users?"

"A few dozens."

"Oh."

"You were expecting more?"

"I thought maybe I had found my way back home. It's quite similar," she explained, waving a hand around, "But there's many more people like me. Thousands. I hoped…" she shook her head. "Well, never mind. Where are we?"

"New York, USA," Steve offered.

"Earth?" she asked.

He nodded, surprised she knew.

"The year?"

"2018."

She frowned.

"Bugger."

"Problem?" Strange asked.

"I'm from Earth, 2004. And I think I've been travelling for one year, tops. I'm not sure whether this is my Earth or not, but people don't just show off their magic where I'm from. You're not even trying to blend in," She added with a scathing look at Strange's attire. "But in any case, I've been travelling through time as well as space and now maybe dimensions so I'm even more lost than I thought."

She sunk back in her bed with a lost look when someone knocked at the door before gently pushing it open. Bucky walked in with a teddy bear, which was either the most adorable or the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen. When everyone's eyes were on him, he went ramrod straight and walked stiffly up to the bed, handing her his gift.

She took it, more defeated by what she had learned than angry now, and suddenly started laughing after taking a look at the bear. Bucky relaxed and chuckled along, so Steve looked more closely at the bear, finally noticing Bucky had crossed out the "Get Well" message on the heart the bear was holding and written "Sorry" instead in big block letters.

"You're such a dork, Buck," Steve said with feeling.

"I'm sorry too," the woman said. "I shouldn't have hit you, but I almost got eaten by a pack of ice wolves because of you."

"Hey! I'm the one who pulled you out in the end," Bucky protested. "Not Captain Nice Guy over there."

"Really? I seem to remember you got your arm stuck in the mirror and I had to pull the both of you out."

"Really, Steve? You couldn't let me have this one for once."

"Your arm!" the woman exclaimed, sounding alarmed. "It wasn't protected. Are you alright?"

Bucky twisted his lips in that wry smile that said he'd really rather not talk about it, but they were trying to gain her trust here so he pulled his left glove off and tugged his sleeve up, showing off the metal prosthetic.

"Oh," she said. "Sorry. I hadn't realized. That looks really advanced. Is it just your arm or-"

"I think you should answer a few questions of your own, miss...?"

"Oh, right. I suppose there's no harm in telling you since this isn't really my world. I'm Hermione Granger."

"And you're magical," Strange butted in.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"The mirror feeds on magic to open, so it was a forgone conclusion."

"Uhm, makes sense," she agreed, then hesitated before asking: "Where is it now?"

"I have it in my possession if you wish to study it."

Hermione shuddered.

"No, I don't think so. This seems like the safest, sanest place I've landed in in the past year, so unless you can send me back to where I belong with a 100% guarantee, I'm not risking it."

Steve and Bucky glanced at Strange who shrugged.

"The multiverse is too big. There is no guarantee whatsoever I can give you. However, if you change your mind, or need training with your magic, you're very welcome to seek me out."

Without waiting for an answer, Strange magicked a portal and slipped out.

"What a pompous arse!" Hermione exclaimed. "My magic is fine as it is, thank you very much. Training."

She scoffed and continued muttering under her breath about howlers and flock of birds while Steve shared an amused glance with Bucky. Maybe she wasn't such a bad sort. In fact, she reminded him a lot of Peggy with her temper and how she refused to take shit from anybody, not even the Winter Soldier or the Sorcerer Supreme.

"Can we keep her now?" Bucky mouthed at him over the woman's head.

And Steve nodded his head,because when had he ever refused anything Bucky asked?


	15. Cabin Cold

**Cabin Cold**

 **Pairing: Steve Rogers/Hermione Granger**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: "All around him, nothing but the white expanse of Russian countryside smothered in snow. The landscape like a pure white canvas waiting for the first strokes of paint to give it some colour and life. Steve could barely see two feet in front of him and it was getting worse by the minute. No way was he going to find Sam in a snowstorm of this magnitude, much less pick up Bucky's trail."**

All around him, nothing but the white expanse of Russian countryside smothered in snow. The landscape like a pure white canvas waiting for the first strokes of paint to give it some colour and life. Steve could barely see two feet in front of him and it was getting worse by the minute. No way was he going to find Sam in a snowstorm of this magnitude, much less pick up Bucky's trail. He was not sure who to worry most for, or if he even should. Sam might have escaped the oncoming blizzard with his wings and flown to safety, while Bucky was too resourceful by half. Of course, Steve could be wrong… but he was not much better off himself. He hoped neither of them tried to come to his rescue and get hurt or lost in the process, but he wouldn't put it passed them: Sam was loyal to a fault, and Bucky, even brainwashed, had saved him once already. So he prayed they kept themselves safe and warm.

However, Steve didn't fancy getting frozen again, but he couldn't see a way out of a repeat of the "capsicle", as Tony liked to put it. Everything, and he meant _everything_ , around him was white: the sky, the ground, the horizon. It was very disorienting, even for him, and stifling, as if the snow had replaced the air itself. Steve kept on walking ahead despite his own feelings of impending doom, because that's what Captain America did: he kept on fighting, he never gave up.

Steve Rogers, on the other hand, would do anything for a warm blanket and a cup of hot cocoa right about now.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, his words snached away by the wind as soon as they left his mouth.

Natasha was right, cursing _was_ a stress-relief. Maybe he should stop harping on the others about it during missions. If it did a modicum of good, it put them at an advantage, and every little bit helped. Besides, it wasn't really hurting anyone except his old-fashioned sensibilities.

Steve closed his eyes against a particularly vicious gust of wind which stung his face and stole his breath away. When he opened his eyes again, he was almost sure he had seen something dark North-North-East from his position, not even a mile away. But then he blinked against a snowflake and it was gone, replaced by the pure white nothingness once more. Even if he was wrong, it wouldn't put him too much off course, so Steve headed that way with a flicker of hope warming his heart.

God, he hated the cold.

Given the conditions, and despite being a super soldier, it took Steve almost thirty minutes to reach the little cabin he had spotted from afar. It was the smoke from the chimney that had given it away, so the place promised warmth, but it also meant it was occupied, and the million dollar question was: by who?

Sam? Bucky? Hydra? Fat chance. More likely, it belonged to some Russian woodcutter or fisherman or whatever else people did around this desolate place.

Steve knocked, to no effect. He tried once more, out of politeness, but when he got no answer, he pushed his way inside, then had to struggle to get the door closed again. Super strength was useless against the elements. Mother Nature would always win, as his sojourn in the ice had proven. She had been kind enough to release him when he had a chance at reuniting with Bucky, and for that, he would always be grateful despite losing everyone else. Finally, Steve glanced around the single room and found his host.

The woman stood in front of the fireplace, bundled in several layers of blankets of various colours. She was staring right back at him, her stance defensive as she pointed a knife in his direction. Steve immediately raised his hands, trying to recall what little Russian Natasha had taught him.

"Nay volyuissa… Drook?"

The woman frowned.

"I hope you're asking for tea, because I've got that much, but if you're here looking for trouble, you've got another thing coming, Mister."

Steve blinked at her, the image of Peggy, so young and defiant, superimposed over this woman at seeing someone so very like her, speaking with that same charming British accent. He smiled sheepishly.

"I probably said it wrong anyway. I don't mean you any harm. I was just looking for shelter from the snow outside. My name is Steve. I'm American."

"How do I know you're who you say you are?" she asked with narrowed eyes, taking a step closer but keeping the knife between them.

Truth be told, he wouldn't have any difficulty taking it from her, but he wasn't here to scare her. She already seemed badly shaken up and he wondered how she came to be here herself.

"I've got credentials in my pack," he said, reaching a hand back to take it out of his small pack.

"Don't move. As if you can trick me that easily. If you lied, I'm kicking you out, so now's your chance to confess."

She skirted around him and approached his bag, hesitating for an instant.

"Side pocket. There's a hidden zip near the strap."

She nodded and fished out his identity card and SHIELD credentials, not that they were worth much now, but there was his picture and name.

"Steve Rogers," she read without an inkling of recognition in her voice.

She walked back to face him and held up the picture next to his face to compare the two. Steve was glad he'd shaved himself clean that morning.

"Alright. But I'll be keeping my eyes on you for the next hour. I know all your tricks."

Maybe she was a little crazy. Steve would be keeping an eye on her too in case she tried slitting his throat during the night. He shifted on his feet and glanced at the flames dancing in the chimney.

"You're welcome to go by the fire."

She almost sounded like she meant it. Relieved, Steve dropped his shield and pack by the door, then decided to take off his boots because they were caked in snow and he didn't want to track little puddles everywhere in the small cabin. For the same reason, he took off his coat as well because it needed a good shake.

"You're a gentleman if I ever saw one," the woman said with warmth in her voice for the first time. "Sit," she then ordered and pointed at the couch, as if just remembering she didn't trust him.

The piece of furniture looked oddly out of place in the small cabin. Too big and luxurious. Comfortable too, he noted as he sank down in the leather cushions, and warm from its proximity to the fireplace.

"Thanks," he said, bone tired now that he had a place to crash without the risk of freezing to death. Or freeze to sleep in his case.

A blanket was thrown over his body, already warm too. He glanced at the woman just as she was shedding another layer of blanket from her person.

"You don't have to-"

"Nonsense," she cut him off. "You need it more than me. How long were you out there walking in the snow?"

"I'm not sure. Two, maybe three hours."

"Three? Are you insane?"

Steve shrugged.

"I'm American."

She scoffed, but was biting back a smile. Her knife was gone too, he noted.

"I'm surprised your bits haven't frozen off. I was out there for only an hour and I still can't feel my feet. Here, drink this," she shoved a hot cup of tea in his hands. "Sorry I don't have anything to eat. I got caught out by the storm too."

"But you had tea?"

"The cabin had tea… I left money to pay for it," she added hastily.

Steve smiled at her. He would have done the same and gotten teased for it. He was glad to find a kindred spirit for once.

"You trust me now?" he asked, perplexed by her erratic behaviour.

He couldn't make head nor tails of her.

"You're not who I feared you might be. _He_ wouldn't be so… polite. He certainly wouldn't have taken his boots off."

Steve frowned. Someone was after her? Someone who meant her harm? That would explain why she had been on the defensive, suspicious and downright hostile when he had barged in uninvited. She's have thought she was under attack,which made him feel guilty for thinking she might be a lunatic.

"Are you in any danger? Do you need help?"

She smiled, but it was all crooked, all wrong.

"Under normal circumstances, I'd tell you to piss off."

"But?" he prompted.

She huffed and sat next to him, pulling her blankets more tightly around her, then wringing her hands for a good minute. Steve waited her out. He was patient if nothing else.

"I was chasing this man," she began and Steve held his breath, thinking of Bucky.

But she couldn't be Hydra. Hydra would have killed him on the spot, or poisoned his tea at the very least. Yet, he was still breathing. Just a coincidence, then.

"He's a convict on the run and I volunteered to go after him because… Well, I don't have a good reason, per say, or rather, not one I can be proud of." She glanced at him and Steve did his best to school his features into polite interest rather than disapproval. It must have been good enough because she continued. "He tried to kill me as a kid and I just can't stand knowing he's out there, free. I'm just out for revenge, in the end. Can't say I'm proud of it, and even less so at how miserably I failed."

Steve's eyebrows shot up. Whatever he'd expected, this wasn't it.

"I underestimated him. Clearly. I tracked him all the way to Russia, but this is his mother country. I forgot in my haste to get to him, and paid for it. Honestly, with a name like Dolohov, that was pretty stupid on my part. He took my weapon and I barely managed to escape, but now, I'm trapped here in the middle of nowhere, freezing my tits off... Go on, you can laugh now."

"I wasn't-" but then he imagined something like this happening to him, because God knows he'd pulled some stupid stunts when he was younger and he began laughing.

She followed suit and they ended up laughing together at their own idiocy. She sank down into the couch, looking relaxed in his presence now.

"Thanks, I needed that," she said. "I'm Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger," she added, holding out her hand.

Steve took it, being careful not to crush it since it looked so small and dainty in his own. It was freezing too.

"Nice to meet you, Hermione Granger."

"Oh! You're so warm already," she said, then flushed and snatched her hand away.

Steve couldn't really tell her it was the super soldier serum acting up to fight off the cold. For one, she hadn't made the connection herself and might, in some unbelievable twist of fate, not know about Captain America, and secondly, it was nice to be treated as just some normal person for once. So he took off one layer of blankets instead of trying to explain himself and draped it around her shoulders.

"I had a good nurse."

She scoffed, but wouldn't meet his eyes, nor did she object him giving back one of her blankets, pulling it tighter around herself instead, her hands disappearing in the folds.

"I hope you realize it's your turn now. I told you my story, now you have to tell me yours. How did you get here?"

Steve clenched his jaw. He didn't like the idea of talking about Bucky to a relative stranger, but she had a point. And she didn't even know Captain America, so he felt relatively safe speaking about Bucky.

"Believe it or not, but I was chasing this man," Steve said, echoing her own story.

"What, really?"

"Yep," Steve said with a chuckle. "What were the odds, right? He's not a convict, though. He's my childhood friend, like a brother really. I thought I'd lost him, a long time ago. I mourned him, but he didn't die that day. Lost his memory though, or part of it… I'm not sure. He's running away now, even from me. I think he's afraid."

Hermione's eyes were suspiciously moist as he spoke, so he looked away.

"Afraid of what?" she asked softly.

Steve wasn't sure himself. It could be any number of things depending on how much of Bucky or the Winter Soldier there was in him. He could even be somebody else entirely: a new person born from the ashes of the other two.

"His past, his future…" Steve shrugged. "I don't know, but I will do anything to help him regardless."

Hermione chuckled.

"You remind me of this friend I have. I keep telling him he has this saving-people thing. He can't help it. If he knew I was stranded here, he'd drop everything and be on his way."

Steve smirked. If only she knew who his alter ego was, she'd find it funny too.

"Sounds like a good friend."

"The best. Life has not been kind on him."

This friend of hers sounded like someone he would get along well with. They had a lot in common in any case. Hermione shifted in her seat to add a log to the fire. Steve hoped she had more where that came from or they might not make it through the night. Which reminded him...

"Do you want me to leave you the couch to sleep," he asked because she looked exhausted.

"Don't be silly," she retorted as she snuggled back into her spot. "I don't take all that much space that I need all of this monstrosity for a bed. Besides, I doubt I can fall asleep knowing Dolohov is out there looking for me."

Steve pressed his lips together to stop from saying he would protect her. He felt a bit insulted it didn't even cross her mind that he wouldn't let anything happen to her as long as he was there.

"Can't imagine it's very comfortable for you," she continued. "But don't stay up on my account. You must be knackered after walking so long in the snow."

Steve shook his head. He'd been cold, most of all, but he was fine now, protected from the icy, howling winds.

"I can't. I'm too worried about my friends. Bucky, that's the one running away, but Sam too. He was with me before the storm hit. He went scouting ahead, so I hope he managed to avoid the storm, but…"

"You worry anyway," she finished for him

Steve nodded as she bit her bottom lip.

"I'd hate not knowing if my friends were out there lost in the snow… I know this is going to sound crazy, but do you have something of your friends?"

Steve looked at her pensively for a moment before realising she might be an enhanced human or a mutant. It's not like you could guess at first glance with most of them, himself included.

"I do actually"

Steve always had a picture of Bucky on him and he still had Sam's spare goggles on him after Sam lent them to him because of the sun's glare on the snow. Sam had laughed his ass off when he wore them, but that was okay because he had such a happy laugh. He was a bit of a kid, really.

Steve handed her the goggles, not sure what to expect. She inspected them and nodded, then went to the kitchen corner of the cabin where she retrieved a large bowl. Then, she carved symbols on the sides with the knife she had previously used to threaten him with earlier. She was scarily good at it. Maybe it was for the best he hadn't tried to disarm her earlier because she might be able to give Natasha a run for her money.

"Okay, so don't freak out," she warned as she placed her hands on either side of the bowl before closing her eyes.

She looked… a bit crazy again, holding an empty bowl with such a look of concentration on her face. But then the bowl started filling up with water, or what he assumed was water since it was clear liquid. Could be vodka. They were in Russia, after all. Then she opened her eyes and glanced at him before adding the goggles to the bowl and staring into the clear pool of water as the goggles slowly sunk until they lay in the bottom.

"Look," she whispered, not breaking eye contact with the water.

Steve shifted closer and leaned in. A stray curl tickled him, but nothing could distract him from the image of Sam pacing in a hotel room, looking now and then through the window at the snow whipping past.

"That's Sam. It's him… right now?"

Hermione nodded, eyes on the bowl, but a smile on her lips.

"He's fine. You don't need to worry about him. Do you want to watch him some more, or-"

"Bucky," Steve said, feeling like his name was always on the tip of his tongue nowadays.

The connection broke when she blinked and looked away from the bowl with a sigh. She emptied the bowl in the kitchen then began her ritual anew. Steve handed her the picture.

"It's Bucky. Before. If it doesn't work…"

She nodded gravely.

"He's a special case. Scrying is not my speciality, so I can't guarantee any results, or even explain a lack of them."

She dropped the picture on the surface and it was sucked right in. Nothing happened for a while and fear twisted his stomach in knots, but then, gradually, an image appeared.

"Bucky."

His hair was still too long and greasy, and he was bundled in so many layers it made him look bulky. But it was him, safe and curled in on himself somewhere dark.

"He's further away than Sam. I think that's why the image isn't as clear," Hermione said.

Steve noticed the strain in her voice, then how she held the bowl with such force it made her knuckles stand out white. Steve grasped them so she would relax. They were still too cold.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

She looked at him and as expected, Bucky's image faded and vanished.

"That was amazing. Is it… some sort of magic?"

Hermione smiled and nodded.

"That's the gist of it. You don't seem surprised, or afraid."

"I've met people like you before."

"Really?"

"People with powers, yes. It's not all that uncommon nowadays."

Her brow furrowed and he only now realized he was still holding her hands. He took the bowl instead to put it back in the kitchen area after retrieving his picture of Bucky and drying it off. He stopped by the door to grab his pack which was snow-free now, but sitting in a little puddle.

"Ah," he said theatrically. "Thought so."

He tossed one of the army rations he found at the bottom to Hermione, who fumbled to catch it before it dropped in her lap, then returned by the fireplace.

"Sam always slips some in. Told me he got stuck behind enemy lines with no food once, so he gets anxious if he doesn't have some rations with him. But then he makes me carry them around like I'm his pack mule and guess who doesn't have his damn rations now?"

Hermione laughed as she opened her share.

" _He_ doesn't need them, though, does he?" she bit into the protein bar and made a face. "Merlin, this is terrible."

"But filling right?" Steve grinned, having already finished his in two bites.

"Well, since it tastes like a brick, I'm not surprised it weighs on the stomach like one too."

Steve chuckled. He _liked_ her. But he worried it was because she reminded him so much of Peggy. God knows that did _not_ end well. He hoped it wasn't a sign of things to come.

"But thanks, I appreciate it."

They watched as the log slowly burned itself out. He didn't need to ask to know it was the last one. The crackle of wood and the flames soon died out while the wind howling outside sounded to have picked up in strength. Out from the elements, he should be fine, but he worried Hermione might not be able to withstand the cold. The cabin was obviously not insulated in any way and the warmth from the fire was already seeping out, but it had to be at least four more hours before the sun rose, and even then, they wouldn't be able to leave the cabin if the snowstorm didn't die down or they wouldn't make it very far.

The last few ambers died and the dark became almost palpable. They had talked on and off, of just about anything except what was really keeping them up, until he thought Hermione had finally fallen asleep since her last few words had sounded so drowsy. He couldn't know for sure with the darkness they were plunged in lest he poke her in the eye though. And the wind still howled outside. In fact, it was a miracle the cabin was withstanding the elements so well when they were so determined to plough through the land like a child having a tantrum.

A sound drew his attention: it wasn't loud but it was the only distraction from the storm so he couldn't help but pick it up. Worried the cabin really was coming undone, he rose and hunted for the origin of the sound. He didn't have to go far though.

Teeth chattering. He knew that sound, having made it himself more than not when he was a child, sick with fever or cold from the winter. Teeth chattering! He could kick himself sometimes. In the dark, he had to feel around blindly for Hermione, an easy enough task since she was literally a bundle of blankets.

"Hermione?"

She didn't answer except for the chattering teeth, and when Steve gave up finding one of her hands and found her cheek instead, it was cold, too cold.

"Damnit. Hermione? Wake up. We have warm you up."

She roused, if only for an instant, muttering some unintelligible protest while nuzzling her face against his hand in search of warmth. Because he was warm, despite the circumstances. He was an idiot for not volunteering himself as a furnace, propriety be damned. He knew about sharing body heat in extreme circumstances, but never thought he'd find himself in such a situation himself, and not with a dame. No time for hesitation. This was a life or death situation. At least, it was pitch black, which would make things a little bit less awkward.

"C-cold," she stuttered.

"I know, Hermione," he said, relieved she was conscious when he started taking off her layers of blankets. "You're shivering. If I don't get you warm real quick, you might go into hypothermia and that could be fatal out here. I don't even know where here is, much less where the closest hospital is."

Steve had her out of the blankets, feeling she was wearing a thick jumper and tight jeans which he imagined would be a nightmare to get her out of without her help. Just thinking about doing such a thing felt very wrong even if it was to help her.

"Steve," she protested through chattering teeth, trying to pull her blankets back around her. "T-too c-cold."

"I know," he said. "I'm trying to help. You know about sharing body heat?"

"Y-yes. P-please. So c-cold."

"Okay, well it's going to get worse before it gets better. Can you get out of your clothes?"

He could feel her fidget for a minute but then she whimpered and despite just having met her, he knew that was very unlike her.

"M-my hands."

Steve nodded. He'd feared as much. He remembered Bucky fighting with all the buttons on his uniform as they traipsed throughout Europe in the middle of winter because of his cold, numb fingers.

"I'll do it. Don't think me any less of a gentleman."

It wrenched a twisted sound out of her that might have been a laugh, but it alleviate some of his uneasiness. The jumper only had three very large buttons but even those she hadn't been able to undo. Three twists later he encouraged her to take it off while he let his hands drift down to her waist, finding the button then the zipper. He started pulling down her jeans, trying very hard not to think of doing this in another situation entirely. The jeans weren't as hard to peel off as he'd thought, but only just, and now, he realized it was his turn. No time to be shy about it. In thirty seconds tops, he was down to his briefs. He reached for her hand.

"Come here. Lie down facing the back of the couch and I'll curl around you and pile the blankets on top. You should be warmed up in no time."

"Hope s-so," she said, not hesitating as she moved to the couch.

To think she had him at knifepoint just a few hours ago and now she was- Steve shook his head. No time to dwell on it. He spooned her from behind, careful not to touch anything he shouldn't as he laid his arm over her. Hermione sighed and really, _she_ shouldn't make such a sound under such circumstances, yet he could understand: the cold could seep into your very bones and soul, and make everything hurt, as if you were a thousand years old. Getting relief from such pain _would_ feel good.

Then her toes, like tiny little ice cubes, found their way between his legs and he hissed.

"S-sorry," she mumbled and sighed again as she pressed herself more firmly against him.

Oh boy. Steve screwed his eyes shut, thinking very hard of the disgusting things in life: the sewers or New York city, that giant tentacle monster that they found there, naked Hulk, the war, Red Skull- Oh! Focus on Red Skull-. Yep, that was working nicely since it was both disgusting and made him angry.

Meanwhile Hermione's breathing had slowed down and he wouldn't be surprised she had fallen asleep. Her skin felt less cold already and her chattering teeth had finally stopped. He was just glad he'd realized in time she was nearing hypothermia. Letting go of the tension that had been running through him, he breathed in deeply, inhaling her perfume. She smelled nice. Soap. He smelled gain, dipping his nose to the crook of her neck. Just soap. Plain old soap. And he loved it.

Steve would always be an early riser, but he had gotten too little sleep lately and so, it was someone squirming in his arms who woke him up the next morning. It took him only a few seconds to recall the events of the night, but that had been enough for Hermione to freeze like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

"Feeling better?" he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as Tony ever did, hoping it would kill any awkwardness between them.

He wasn't sure it worked because she remained frozen for a full minute.

"I-" she stopped, huffed loud enough that he could hear her despite her facing the other way and then she rolled around on herself so she could face him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be such a burden last night."

"Yes, because having a pretty, mostly naked dame sleep in my arms was a terrible chore. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

Definitely channeling his inner-Tony. He hoped he found the switch to turn it off soon, but it somehow made her laugh.

"I'm sorry I woke you, too. You must be knackered. But the sun is up and I think the storm had passed, so I wanted to check it out, and maybe get dressed before you woke up," she added the last sheepishly.

"Ah, yes. So you could oggle me when it was my turn to put my clothes back on. Very sneaky of you, Hermione."

Hermione stared at him wide eyed and he wondered for a brief moment if it had actually crossed her mind, especially when a light blush dusted her cheeks.

"I wouldnt-" she looked away, giving lie to her denial. "Are you always this snarky in the morning?"

Steve rose his eyebrows deliberately.

"You want to find out?" he teased.

This was just too easy. And fun. She huffed again.

"You're… impossible. Could you… erm… close your eyes maybe?"

Steve bit down on another teasing remark just begging to leap out of his mouth and politely closed his eyes with a promise not to look while Hermione, apparently not wanting to climb over him to get off the couch, which he could understand, chose to climb over the couch's back, landing with a dull thud that made him wince on the other side.

"Bloody-hell-it's freezing!" she hissed and he heard her pull her clothes back on. "Okay, I'm done. I'll do a perimeter check while you dress."

Steve nodded, amused at the way she talked like a seasoned soldier. He didn't actually know what she did. Could be MI6 he supposed, but that's not the sort of information you just told anyone, the same way he hadn't just come out and said he was Captain America. He pulled on his clothes and his boots, adding on his coat because it was pretty cold after getting out of bed where he had held another's warm body in his arms all night. He was going to miss that. But he had more important things to deal with: get Hermione to safety, regroup with Sam, and find Bucky. After, maybe, when everything was settled down, he could contact Hermione again.

Speaking of, she walked back in with a smile on her face.

"All clear?" he asked.

"Sky as blue as a-" her face dropped. "Well never mind that. Shall we?"

"After you," he replied and followed her out into the blinding sun.

Hermione had trouble walking in the twenty inches of snowfall but she stubbornly refused that he carry her despite his very convincing arguments that she weighed nothing, was slowing them down, had not eaten nearly enough and would burn herself out in no time. So he walked in front of her, trying to create a more suitable path for her to wade through, but he had to look back over his shoulder regularly so he didn't leave her too far behind. Her face was red and she was winded. He frowned, wondering why she had to be so stubborn, but soon realized the other women he knew would have refused to be carried around like a sack of potatoes too.

"Steve!"

He whirled around at her hiss and she motioned for him to lay low, which he would have done anyway to follow her example. He unhooked his shield as he searched for the threat but couldn't see anything until she pointed up. Relief flooded him at first, thinking it had to be Sam, but the figure was all wrong, sitting in the sky, not flying like Sam did. It was facing away. They'd been lucky. Steve crawled towards Hermione, who looked very angry now and he knew who that was.

"Dolohov?"

She nodded.

"Has to be. No one else knows I'm here."

Certainty was painted all over her features, as well as fear. But he supposed that was justified since she was weaponless and her would be murderer twice over was searching for her. Steve dug into his pack for a spare gun. He only brought it because Sam insisted, but preferred by far using only his shield.

"Take it," he told Hermione.

She stared at his gun then shook her head.

"I don't know how to use guns."

That threw him for a loop. Definitely not MI6 then. Maybe some secret agency of mutants or the British version of the Avengers… Was there such a thing?

"What do you usually use?" he asked.

She bit her lip and glanced in Dolohov's direction.

"A wand. He does too. It's like… a magic wand."

"Do we just have to take it away from him and he's powerless."

"More or less. I don't know the extent of his wandless magic."

It was new, he had to admit, but didn't sound like the worse villain he'd ever faced. One swing of his shield at his magic wand and it was done.

"How do you feel about being bait?"

"You can't be serious."

"We can't lie in the snow all day. If he sees you, he'll think you're alone again and straight up and attack you, right?"

"Yes, probably."

"Good. Take the gun, it will make him hesitate. Just… point it his way. Now cover me in snow and go catch his attention. I'll take care of him."

"How the hell do you think _you_ can take care of him? He's a dark wizard!"

Well, that was definitely new.

"Trust me?"

She huffed then threw snow at him.

"Fine. Have it your way, but don't come complaining if he turns you into a gnat."

And he couldn't ask if she was serious about that, because she threw more snow his way that landed right in his mouth. No time for arguing. He helped her cover himself as much as he could and lay in wait. It wasn't long before she was spotted. Hermione had just doubled back and must have made a bit of a scene because he heard muttered nonsense. Carefully, he poked a hole into the snow so he could see what was going on in that direction.

Dolohov was actually flying on a broom. A wooden old fashioned broom. Like a witch… Despite the ridiculousness of it all, he did look dangerous as he landed in front of Hermione. She, in turn, looked dwarfed by the tall man, even as she stood her ground and held him in check with her gun.

"Resorting to muggle toys, _malen'kiy voin_."

Steve had no idea what that meant and neither did Hermione judging by her frown, but Dolohov almost sounded fond. Disturbing, to say the least, but Steve couldn't intervene before the man took out his wand, and he couldn't begin to guess why he hadn't already.

"Hand me my wand back, Dolohov. I know you have it."

"Or what? You will use that gun on me. Niet. Ya tak ne dumayu."

Steve knew those words. God knows Natasha muttered them often enough. _I don't think so._ Dolohov was calling her bluff and took a step towards her.

"Stop. I'll shoot," she warned and adjusted her aim.

Steve winced. She hadn't even taken off the security and Dolohov was taking another step forward. If he moved quickly now, she would be within his grasp and who knows what he would do. He hadn't even taken out his wand and seemed to think he didn't need it against a wandless Hermione despite the fact she was the one with a gun. Steve had no choice, he sprung from the light covering of snow, and flung the shield at him in such a way he would either have to take a hit or step away from Hermione. As expected he jumped back, just barely avoiding his shield which circled back to him.

"Who are you?" Dolohov seethed.

"A friend of Hermione. Give her back her wand."

The man sneered and raised his wand.

"Wrong answer," he said and ran towards him.

Out of the corner of her eye, he saw Hermione's horrified expression illuminated by the purple light now emanating from Dolohov's wand. Still pointed at him, thank goodness, but maybe he should avoid it or better yet… Steve brought up his shield just as the light thrown his way was about to collide with him, sending it up in the air since he had no idea what it was supposed to do. He leaped the last few feet separating them and punched their attacker right in the face. He should have been knocked out cold, but something was wrong with the way the punch connected, as if punching through sludge. Dolohov merely reeled back and immediately retaliated with another spell. Steve managed to jump out of the way of it, then deflected another like the first.

Hermione was not kidding. The guy was more than competent adversary oand he could not find an opening to disarm him.

"No!" Hermione cried out when green light gathered at the tip of the wand, then she began _running_ at Dolohov. Her intention might have been to bowl him over, but she literally just bounced off him like a bug on a windshield.

The green light died away and Dolohov laughed as he picked her off the ground. Steve had his shield poised for attack, but it was useless now, too risky with Hermione in the way. Dolohov held her against him, like a shield of his own, with her feet dangling uselessly in the air as he whispered in her ear. Hermione looked sick, but far from defeated, she bit down hard on his hand, drawing blood and he threw her down at his feet.

Against all odds, Dolohov then took three hits at once: Hermione _threw_ the gun at his privates which distracted the man enough that Steve hit his wand hand, making him drop it and then Sam landed on him with both feet hitting him in the chest before he kicked him in the face for good measure.

"What took you so long?" Steve asked with a wide grin.

"Russia is really big in case you hadn't noticed. Saw some fireworks though. What are we celebrating?"

Steve punched him playfully in the arm and gave Hermione a hand up.

"Sam, this is Hermione. I met her during the snowstorm."

"Ugh," Sam said with an exaggerated wince at the punch. "Nice to meet you, Hermione. Who's the prick?"

"No one important now. I'm sending him back to prison. Thanks for the help, by the way. And nice wings. I have a few friends who'd love to check them out."

"I bet you do," he said with his most winsome smile.

Oh god, he was hitting on her, wasn't he? Sam was a terrible flirt, but Hermione completely ignored him, too busy going through her prisoner's pockets until she retrieved a polished length of light wood with carving of leaves all around. Her wand. The smile that illuminated her face as she held it against her told him it was more than a weapon, maybe something akin to his shield, full of memories. For an instant, that smile was directed at him and she winked mischievously.

"Sam? Don't freak out, okay?" she said, echoing her words from the last time she had done magic.

Steve wasn't sure what to expect, but at least he was prepared to see something unusual. Sam, on the other hand, reeled back, cursing like a sailor when ropes coiled around Dolohov like snakes. Hermione then pinned a note to his front as if sending a package and suddenly, Dolohov vanished before their very eyes. Steve laughed at Hermione's satisfied nod and Sam's bewildered look. She wasn't kidding about being able to do a lot more with her wand. She was powerful, more so than the Scarlet Witch, probably even more than Loki.

"Can someone tell me what the hell is going on? Where did the creepy dude go?" Sam blurted out, sounding much less assured now.

"Like I said: to prison. With any luck, he won't escape again anytime soon, and since I'm here, how about I help you find this Bucky person?"

"You don't have to..." Steve argued, even though he felt she would be a great help in finding him, and the sooner, the better because he hadn't looked so well in her scrying bowl.

"Actually, I do. You saved my life, Steve. I owe you a life-debt, and its magically binding."

"Can't you just… cancel it?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't want to."

Hesitating once more, Steve glanced at Sam who shrugged.

"Hell, if she can help find Bucky sooner, all the better for everyone, right?"

"It's decided then!" Hermione cheered.

Steve wasn't all that sorry he had accidentally roped her into helping him either, and Russia was so cold, he might even get a chance to warm her up again one of these nights.


	16. A Flower Like None Other

**A Flower Like None Other**

 **Pairing: Gen, Neville Longbottom Natasha Romanov**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: A new flower is born from the ashes of Neville's poisonous plant collection.**

His garden was his pride and joy. For lack of a wife, for lack of a family, because his friends were so busy living their own lives, because he dealt with children most of the year… In the Summer, his garden was his everything, and this patch in particular, because it was home to the most beautiful and deadly flowers known to muggles and magicals alike. There was a certain thrill to making these beauties thrive under his green thumb, and thrive they did in their colourful robes and hidden thorns.

Which is why Neville was so aggravated to see something had decided to crash right in the middle of it, digging a crater in its centre, with jagged pieces of metal littering the once perfectly-tended grounds, while flames and smoke rose above the entire Longbottom Estate, turning the dark night a haunting shade of red.

Such a tragedy. He knew at a glance half of his precious little killer blooms were lost, many others beyond repair, and whatever was left needed immediate care to survive the heat and soiled air.

His sleeves rolled up, trowel in hand, Neville began saving his plant collection, but he was only a couple of pots into his work when a form emerged from the smoke. He stared at it as it approached, stealthily, purposefully, the movement so hypnotic, it completely derailed him from his work. Soon, there stood the most beautiful of any flower he'd ever seen with her stunning red hair and tight leather clothes that left nothing to the imagination. It was as if a Dahlia of Llandaff had uprooted itself one day and decided to turn itself into a woman, its red petals becoming a halo of alluring red locks while its black stem morphed into the leather clad, voluptuous body and all to come and greet him. Except those particular flowers were not poisonous and grew in the far eastern border of the property, a curiosity, but nothing special. This woman, on the other hand, was, without a doubt, more beautiful and dangerous than any other flower he knew. Remembering his manners, Neville bowed and greeted her, before asking if she needed help.

"Given I just crash landed into your garden, yes, I'd say I could use a little help."

And as flowers were wont to do when circumstances disagreed with them, the woman wilted like hellebore caught in early frost, hitting the ground as gracefully as a leaf in the fall. Neville spared one last regretful glance at his precious plants, then dropped his trowel to pick up the Dahlia woman instead. He didn't have a green thumb with people the way he had with plants, but people were easier. A few potions, a little wand waving and she would be as good as new, even if she was a muggle. A shame he couldn't keep her in a pot to keep him company like the bubotuber's plant he'd had since he was a student at Hogwarts. She, like everyone else, would leave him when she woke up, and all he would have left was ashes where once grew the loveliest, deadliest flowers in existence.


	17. Nothing Worse than a Friendly Target

**Nothing Worse than a Friendly Target**

 **No Pairing / Gen**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: Bucky is confused, Steve is desperate, Luna is a good friend and Sam is still just tagging along.**

"Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky?"

That was the first time the asset felt anything other than purpose and determination, but he couldn't identify quite what it was. He was… confused. Which is when he made the terrible division to tell his handlers about his confusion. He never asked questions. He didn't need to, so he wasn't quite sure what prompted him to ask them who the man on the bridge was.

"You met him earlier this week on another assignment."

A lie. Not because he remembered. He never did. But he knew when people lied. They all had tells, even this man. The asset shook his head. Maybe the other man hadn't understood.

"But I _knew_ him."

And the man on the bridge knew him in return. Bucky… could he be Bucky?

"Prep him."

The asset clenched his jaw. He would never know. He wouldn't even remember. Maybe it was for the best. All this confusion created a turmoil within himself he couldn't control nor sooth. He forced his body to relax and bit into the mouthguard, waiting for the pain to take him away.

His target was familiar, and too stubborn to die. Had he failed eliminating this target before? He had shot him in the stomach, for fuck's sake! By all accounts, he should be writhing in pain on the floor and bleeding out, but here he was again, coming to finish him off while he was pinned down like a fly. He expected the pain from his target's next blow but it didn't come. Instead, he was helping him out from under the heavy piece of metal while they were having the most ridiculous argument. He tried to hit his target out of sheer annoyance, but he merely avoided his weakened attacks and never retaliated.

"You're my friend!" the blond insisted.

His voice cracked with despair, his eyes held so much emotion, longing…

"You're my _mission_!"

Friend? What was a friend? Why would _he_ , of all people, have one? He was a weapon. He didn't _need_ friends, and he didn't even realize he was punching the target into a bloody pulp until he spoke again.

"Then finish it."

He was just going to… accept it. Willingly die at his hands? Why? No one wanted to die. Never. They ran and hid. They screamed, and cried, and begged. His metal fist hovered in the air.

"Cause I'm with you till the end of the line."

At those words, pain blossomed in his head, more intense than the wipe, more world-altering that the triggers, his mind was suddenly assaulted by images, sounds and emotions, all linked to this man under him.

Memories.

He _knew_ him. And not from a mission. He was… had been different. Bucky? But he didn't have time to dwell on it, to question the target, to decide what he wanted to do with this knowledge, that the glass floor of the helicarrier suddenly gave way beneath them. His metal arm reflexively made a grab for something to hold on to as he watched, still in a state of shock and utter confusion, as the blond soldier, _Steve_ , fell to the murky waters below. The tiny white splash he left behind goaded him into action. It couldn't end like this, with barely a ripple, when the whole world around him was crashing down, figuratively as well as literally.

The asset let go and plunged after Steve.

Life on the run wasn't easy, even less so when you were avoiding both the good and the bad guys, but it was still a sight better than being a Hydra puppet without the slightest notion of free-will, like choosing to drink a large cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows on this bench every evening to watch the sun set, like choosing to bring a second cup of the same drink for the woman who watched the sun set on this very bench every evening with him.

He had been wary of her at first, the timing too coincidental, but she was so strange and dotty, the possibility she was a spy was close to nil. Not to mention her flowery frills and vegetable jewelry. No, Luna Lovegood was no spy.

So they watched the sun together, and sipped their hot drinks in companionable silence. Sometimes she talked and told him wild tales about her life. He wasn't sure he believed her, but he supposed dragons and fairies weren't all that much of a stretch after aliens and gods. His tongue burned to ask the only question that had plagued his mind in the last few weeks, and he knew, now, in her roundabout wisdom, that she would have an answer for him, even if he wasn't guaranteed to understand it.

"How do I know if someone is a friend?"

Luna slowly turned her head towards him, her large blue eyes boring into him as if she could see his very soul, which was reassuring, in a way, since it meant he probably still had one.

"I'm your friend, James."

He hadn't been able to introduce himself as Bucky. The prospect had been both frightening and unsettling. Bucky had been a swell guy, brave, generous and a bit of a cad. Today, none of those applied to him. Bucky was a good guy and Steve's friend, while he was a cowardly nobody… but Luna's friend, apparently.

"Why?"

"Because you're always there to greet me with a hello and a hot cocoa, you listen to me even if you look like you don't believe me most of the time and you don't even call me out on it. You just… accept me as I am. Not a lot of people can do that."

He mulled over her words. So basically, you just made friends by being decent and accepting them for who they were. Easy, even for him.

"I'm your friend," he agreed.

Could Steve be his friend? Would he accept him for who he was now? Not the Winter Soldier, but not Bucky either. Someone new, someone in-between. Doubts ate away at his hope. Steve was looking for Bucky, his long lost friend. James had visited the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes lest he be recognized as WW2 hero or the Hydra terrorist, and he had seen how close his former self and Steve had been, which confirmed the few memories he had. How would Steve react when all he found was _him_ instead of his Bucky? Disappointed? Angry? In any case, James couldn't imagine their meeting up ending well.

"What if… I hurt a friend? What if I changed so much I'm not who I used to be? Are they still my friend?"

Luna hummed as she seemed to be looking at the bottom of her disposable cup for answers.

"You won't know until you give them a chance to know the new you, will you? And if you hurt them, I find an apology always goes a long way."

Why did she always make things seem so easy? Of course, she didn't know the full story, he couldn't place such a burden on her tiny shoulders, but maybe… he nodded, his decision made.

"Luna, I won't be coming back."

She smiled as if she knew what he was about to do.

"Maybe we'll meet again, James. Good luck with your friend."

Sam startle at the quick, loud knock on the door. He'd never heard a knock be so threatening before so he felt completely justified in taking out his gun to go investigate who was at their door. Nobody knew they were in this shitty hotel room save the Black Widow and he knew by now she didn't bother with such mundane things as knocking at people's door.

He listened but couldn't hear anyone on the other side and he wasn't suicidal enough to look through the door's peephole, not while hunting for the Winter Soldier. That was the best way to get a bullet in his head. For lack of a better option, he yanked the door open.

Relief flooded him at the absence of any assassin and he was glad he hadn't barged into Steve's shower time because he'd been spooked by loud knocking. He was still confused by the box of chocolates with a red bow on top, but it was hardly threatening unless they were poisoned.

"What's up?" Steve asked, now wearing pajamas with little Ironmen zooming about.

He dearly hoped those had been a joke gift and not something he had willingly chosen to buy. Sam jerked his head down at the box of chocolates.

"Did you order chocolates?"

Steve frowned at the small package on the floor and shook his head before retrieving it. Finding a card tucked under the bow, he turned it around to read it, his face morphing so fast from confusion to shock to joy that it gave him whiplash.

"Who is it from?" Sam asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Bucky!"

There it was.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Look! It's his writing!"

Sam wouldn't know about that, but sure enough, scribbled on the simple white card, an even simpler word stood out:

 _Sorry._

 _J.B.B._


	18. Welcome to the Magical Lost and Found

**Welcome to the Magical Lost and Found**

 **Pairing: Thor/Lavender Brown**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: Some lose their dignity in a tavern and their weapons in a war, but Lavender and Thor somehow get it mixed up.**

"Welcome to the Lost and Found, how may I help you?"

Thor looked uncertainly at the lady with the pointy, sparkly hat and the brass badge claiming she was Ministry Employee Lavender Brown. He had no idea why she would be in possession of his hammer, of all Midgardians, but at least she had battle scars on her fair face which placed her as a warrior, as well as a wary air about her he knew well from his brothers -and sisters- in arms, plus Heimdal had sent him here, so it should be the right place.

"Greetings, my Lady, I am Thor Odinson, and I am in search of my mighty hammer, Mjolnir. It was…" he winced. "Left behind in a drinking tavern of ill repute, but with drinks to rival those of Asgard."

Better, if he had to be truthful. No drink had ever made flames shoot out of his mouth and nostrils before, or made him forget his faithful Mjolnir. The woman relaxed and her smile, which had been as insincere as one of the man of Iron before, was now as warm as that of the Captain's.

"A hammer? Yes, we do have a few of those, although no one's ever bothered to come back for them before. Please tell me you're here for the singing hammer? That one drives me absolutely bonkers every time the silencing charm wears off."

Thor shook his head slowly, wondering if this was some Midgardian joke. He had never heard of hammers doing anything besides hitting nails or crushing skulls before.

"Shame. So, when did you lose it? And do you recall the name of the pub?"

"Pub?"

"Tavern."

"Oh. Something to do with a witch's undergarments, I believe, and it happened just last night."

Lady Lavender blushed, her cheeks turning a light pink which in turn made her scars stand out in long silver streaks like shooting stars in the burning dawn. Thor felt quite certain Midgardian beauties would one day be his downfall.

"You're quite adventurous, but I see which hammer it is now. Quite problematic, that one. No one could lift if off the table, not even Harry, so the aurors had to bring the whole table in too. Thank Merlin it wasn't resistant to shrinking charms."

"You shrunk my hammer?" Thor bellowed while his hands moved to protect other parts of himself he'd rather not have shrunk.

"Oh, don't worry, you big baby," she said as she beckoned him to follow her, leading him to the back through rows and rows of unusual objects that made his father's treasure hall pale in comparison. He could swear he had even glimpsed one of Loki's trick mirror. Blasted things those. They would make you stare into their depths for days on end, until father had finally outlawed them.

"Mr Odinson? This way, please."

Thor shook his head. Blasted mirror had almost ensnared him again. A couple of minutes later of weaving through several towering shelved, Lady Lavender pointed him to a tiny Mjolnir on a tiny wooden table. Both would hold in the palm of his hand, to be sure, and he felt the blood drain from his face at the sheer horror of it.

"Are you sure you can return Mjolnir to its normal size?"

She scoffed.

"Just because I'm half-wolf doesn't mean I've lost my magic."

"Magic?"

Thor narrowed his eyes at her, half-expecting her to transform into Loki, but she only returned the suspicious gaze.

"Where did you say you're from?" she asked, standing between him and his hammer as she held a tiny wooden staff to his face.

He knew Midgardians liked to shrink everything, but making their magical staffs this small looked quite ridiculous and not threatening at all. However, this place suddenly made a whole lot more sense. He had not known there were still magical Midgardians living in this realm, and he wondered why they were hiding from their non-magical brethren.

"I am from Asgard."

No recognition whatsoever crossed her features.

"I am Thor, son of Odin, the God of Thunder."

Finally, her face lit up, and… an annoying trilling sound cut off the words of praise and adoration that would have no doubt fallen from her lush, pink lips. She sighed when the trilling continued, louder and more insistent, then her shoulders tensed when an angry voice bellowed from the front desk.

"Where are you, you filthy half-breed? Sleeping on the job I'd bet, like the flea-ridden dog you are!"

The insults were followed by laughter. His own laughter. Not only was he slandering a lovely lady, but he was crass enough to laugh at his own unwitty jibes.

Thor left his miniature Mjolnir behind since it would not be of much use to him in such a poor state, then followed Lady Lavender after she had excused herself to take care of the disturbance. She must not have noticed him dogging her steps however, because she was muttering under her breath, pulling at her long silky locks, obviously trying, and failing, to regain her composure before facing the lout calling for her with more slurs, displaying his low intelligence. And people thought _he_ was an idiot.

"About time, you wench! What took you so long? Want me to rat you out to your superior? You should be fucking grateful you got a job at all, you…"

The man with the unfortunate teeth trailed off as he stared up and up at him standing behind Lady Lavender. She, too, glanced at him over her shoulder and blushed again at seeing him there.

"What's this?" the man sneered and pointed an accusing finger at her. "Using Ministry-paid time to entertain men in the back? I'll have your hide for this, you bitch!"

He made to grab at her, hand outstretched. Thor was about to intervene when Lady Lavender's arm shot out in the blink of an eye and crushed the man's wrist in her dainty, nail painted hand. The man howled in pain and fell back on his ass before running off. Thor leaned down towards her and sure enough, she was growling in the coward's direction. So she had not been jesting about being half-wolf. This was most interesting.

"We'd better sort out your hammer before I'm fired, or worse," the lady said defeatedly, returning to the back of the shelf room.

"Why would you be? That oaf was obviously in the wrong and deserved what you did to him, and more."

"Maybe in an ideal world, but here, people who are cursed with lycanthropie, even as moderately as I am, are discriminated upon."

"Then why do you stay?"

"And where would I go?"

"Anywhere!" Thor exclaimed because it was so obvious.

Lady Lavender fell silent and he hoped she was thinking about his advice because no one this kind and strong deserved to live this way, as if they were lesser. True to her words, she returned his hammer to its original size and Thor tested its weight and balance, but the magical shrinkage did not seem to have altered it in any way. He thanked the lady with a bow and an offer.

"May I invite you for a drink, my Lady, as thanks for your service."

" _Not_ at that Tavern you-"

"No! No. I would never. It is not a place for a Lady such as you, but have you heard of the Starbucks? Their beverages are plentiful and sweet."

"I haven't actually."

She glanced at the shelves of the Lost and Found, at the empty welcome desk and at her name badge which she unpinned from her frilly blouse and dropped on the counter.

"Why not? Maybe they're hiring."

Thor beamed, both at her agreement, her leaving this prejudiced place, and that he, for once, would be introducing someone to the wonders of the Midgardian delights. Maybe she would enjoy pop-tarts too.


	19. Open Doors

**Open Doors**

 **Pairing: Nick Fury/Hermione Granger**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: Someone dares spy on him, the Master of Spies and Fury doesn't take that sitting down.**

Fury took one glance at his office and knew someone had been snooping about. He didn't know who… yet, but he would find that motherfucker and make a coat out of his skin.

"Hill!"

"Sir?" Hill replied calmly as if she had been there all along, and maybe she had. He should get her a bell or something.

"Someone was in my office."

Hill frowned as she inspected the door. No apparent break in, but that didn't mean much.

"I'll check the security footage, sir."

"You do that."

Fury stepped into his office proper, his nostrils flaring as he caught the slightest trace of… citrus. Unusual scent and too natural to be a cleaning product. The cleaning crew wasn't due for another four days anyway, and only came in under his direct supervision. Strange to think a spy would be talented enough to break into both his building and his office without tripping any alert, but then would be stupid enough not to mask his scent. It was spy course 101. Fury approached his desk and rectified his visitor's second mistake by righting the file he had "casually" left there in plain view. Full of nonsense, of course, but it proved useful, now and then, since no one, not even Romanov, could resist taking a peek.

"Sir? We have a problem."

Fury whirled around, the lapels of his coat snapping like twin whips. Hill wasn't fazed in the least, but it was good to practice now and then. It made junior agent jump like fucking rabbits. He focused his eye on the tablet Hill held towards him. The door to his office just… opening on its own, then closing. Then a view from inside his office where the door seemed to have simply shut of its own accord. Nothing for a few seconds, then a light bobbed around merrily like the frigging butt of a firefly on a dopamine high.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Look at the shadows, sir," Hill pointed out.

Fury leaned closer and there, against the floor, lengthening to display against one wall or another depending on where the light shone, a figure in a long cloak.

"Are you trying to tell me my office is haunted, Hill. You know I don't believe in that shit."

"Wouldn't be the strangest thing we have encountered to date, sir, but I believe it's merely someone who is somewhat invisible, although their power or device is resistant to light penetration, refracting it instead. Not sure they realized that, or they simply didn't care. He keeps this up for about half an hour, but nothing seems to have been taken out of your office."

"Was anything added?"

"Not that we can tell from the footage, but I'll call for a team to sweep your office, just to be on the safe side."

Fury grunted in answer, then paced around his office once more. It was his sanctuary and no one came in who wasn't invited. The fact a stranger had just waltzed in for nefarious purposes without him expecting it or having the slightest hint as to who was behind it felt like a very personal attack. He was the chief spy of a whole fucking spy agency for fuck's sake. If he was this blind to such a breach in security, he was obviously doing a very poor job of it.

The next day, not only was he nowhere closer to catching the culprit but Stark barged in his office accusing him of sending a spy into his ultra secure workshop. To be honest, Stark's security was far more difficult to bypass than his own, so that, at least, made him feel slightly better.

"Not one of mine," Fury growled at the annoying man. "But I'm guessing it's the same person who paid me a visit last night."

He showed Stark the footage of his night-time visitor, knowing the computer genius would only hack into his system to get it himself otherwise, and knowing it was the only way to get his hands on Stark's intel. Stark played ball only if you tossed him one first. Going by his expression, they'd indeed had the same visitor, and the video only confirmed it. Once more, an invisible someone simply waltzed in, a bobbing light walking around the supposedly secure space before leaving the way it had come. Unfortunately, he learned nothing new from this additional footage.

"I thought maybe you had sent one of your minions to spy on me again. From Jarvis' analysis, she's about the same height and build as Romanov."

Fury frowned at him.

"Whoever the fuck that is is invisible," he pointed out, wondering if it being a woman was only wishful thinking on Stark's part.

"Oh, right. Here."

Stark pressed some setting and the plain image turned to a heat detector one. Fury huffed. He'd bet his eyepatch the other man had x-ray, gamma-ray and spectrums of all the rest of the fucking alphabet. But the figure outlined was female, no doubt about it, rather more curvy than Agent Romanov's in truth, not that he was going to point that out, he wasn't an idiot. Once more, they had a big problem on their hands. First SHIELD, now Stark. It was too much of a coincidence. The Avengers were being targeted but to what purpose and who would be next? Captain America was the second most high profile member of the team and only because Stark was such an attention whore, so his place in Brooklyn seemed to be a safe bet for the visitor's next stop, and Fury would make damn sure he set up a big fucking rat trap to catch the invisible spy.

"Three, two, one…"

The trap sprung right on time, right where he had predicted and the target was being brought to him by his most trusted agents. Fury made his way to the meeting point to deal with this new threat and he had to admit he was a bit underwhelmed by what he found.

The spy turned out to be a small mousy woman in a long heavy dress that looked like some renaissance shit. The items they had confiscated from her person were much more interesting: a long piece of wood that looked for all intents and purposes like a magic wand, a cape that turned the wearer invisible and a notepad listing point of interest of the places and people she had spied upon. He turned the pages to his own entry and scowled at the words written there in that flowery script.

 _Good intentions. Secretive bastard. Greater good bullshit. Mad-Eye's twin._

Fury wasn't sure whether he was being complimented or not, but he felt offended because of that Mad-Eye comment. However she wasn't out to get his secrets but to vet him. Question was, for whom? There was no one above SHIELD apart from the World Security Council and with his own spies keeping an eye on them, he would know if such a thing had been planned well in advance. Not liking to show any weakness, namely that he was completely clueless about this woman, Fury dismissed the security and disconnected the cameras before sitting opposite her.

Ten minutes later, she had regained consciousness, even though she pretended otherwise. Fury was reluctantly impressed because he knew the drug she'd been injected left the receiver dizzy and disoriented upon waking up.

"I know you're awake."

Her shoulders tensed and strained as she pulled herself upright in her chair, her dark eyes boring into his. She didn't speak, seemingly content to observe him, their surroundings and her predicament. The only time they gleamed with something other than cool assessment was when she saw her wand, confirming it was a weapon of sorts that she could use against him.

"I'd introduce myself, but according to your little notes, you're already aware of who I am and what I do."

She didn't so much as twitch for a full five minutes, but then seemed to realize he could play the silent game as well as she. Her lips curled.

"I do, although it seems I still managed to underestimate you, Mister Fury."

"Just Fury will do."

He noted the heavy British accent. If it was faked, it was done so flawlessly. She did not, however, offer her own name or a false one.

"Who do you work for?"

"No one you know or need to worry about."

"I highly doubt that."

If she worked for an organisation that was both unknown to him and had her kind of powers, he'd say he had a damn lot to worry about. He glared at her. Not only was she offering very little information, but she wasn't the least bit worried by the situation she was in. The waiting game resigned and she merely looked bored now. On the plus side, she was the one to break the silence this time.

"So what happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to spill my secrets just because you're staring at me like a tall, dark, handsome stranger brooding about how to solve world peace or the next alien invasion."

Fury narrowed his eye at her. Was she making fun of him?

"We can keep you here indefinitely until you do choose to talk."

She hummed and leaned forward. He had to wonder if she hadn't been trained a la Black Widow, a very dangerous seductress… Hard to believe he had found her mousy when he had first seen her. It was the eyes, lively and intelligent, as well as her body language, confident and inviting, which drew him in, ad if she was casting a spell on him, and maybe she was… He would have to second-guess himself at every turn. This was going to be one fucking long interrogation if he ever had one.

"No torture?"

"Of course not."

What was wrong with her? Talking about torture as casually as if they were discussing the weather. Most people would pray not to be subject to such methods, much less mention it themselves.

"So… just you, me, en tête à tête in this dimly-lit room. Feels like a date."

She winked at him and sat back with a shit-eating grin that was very reminiscent of Stark. He'd scowl some more at her but she seemed immune to his one eye of wrath. Maybe he should take off his eyepatch, see how well she maintained her nothing-bothers-me attitude. A bit extreme and in the end, it would probably bother him more than her, but he could call her bluff.

"I suppose it does." He made a show of checking his watch. "What would you like to eat?"

"Eat?"

She blinked too much and sat up straighter.

"For dinner? Sushi? Italian? Or I know this place that does a mean pepper steak and fries."

Her mouth set in a thin, resolved line.

"Sure, that sounds lovely."

So she was calling his bluff too, eh? Fury turned his com back on to order and chuckled to himself at the look on the woman's face when he demanded a candle and flowers too. The agent who made the delivery was so nervous, he dropped the cutlery twice and couldn't light the candle he was shaking so bad. Poor baby agent. Fury would make sure to have him on hand in the next few weeks until he stopped shaking in his boots every time he looked his way. He did take pity on him and dismissed him though.

Fury lit the candle himself and, deciding everything was in place, gave her the bouquet of flowers.

"There. It's a date. _Now_ will you tell me your name."

The woman tried, but eventually couldn't hold back a smile, then a laugh.

"This has got to be the most reluctant date I've ever been on, but you're right, you've earned my name, at the very least. I'm Hermione Granger. I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the future."


	20. Why the Wizarding World Needs Google

**Why the Wizarding World Needs Google**

 **Pairing: Stephen Strange/Hermione Granger**

 **Rating: G/K**

 **Summary: Some little mistakes could be so easily avoided if the Wizarding World used Internet.**

Ha! They thought they could shackle her with their stupid Marriage Law for the Promotion of Wizarding Wealthfare, but every law had a loophole and Hermione had found hers: if she was already married before midnight, they couldn't marry her off to the first available wizard like a piece of meat at the butcher's.

All she needed was a wizard, which could have been a problem, but the good news was she only needed _a name_ to fill the parchment, and the best part was they didn't even ask for proof whether that person existed or not! By the time they managed to prove he _didn't_ , she would have that stupid law repealed and buried under a ton of dragondung.

So… a made-up name. That wasn't her forté as her poor alias she had given the one time the snatchers had caught her during the war proved, but she had a plan. Opening _Hogwarts, A History_ , Hermione flipped the pages, stopped at a random page and pointed her finger at what would be her future made-up husband's first name: _The_.

Well, that wouldn't do. She tried again. _Goblin_. Urgh. No. _Loos._ No! _Disembowelment._ Oh, come on! Her favourite book had never let her down before, but it took her another twenty minutes to finally find an acceptable name: _Stephen_. She would just have to strive to forget her imaginary husband was named after a dark wizard's pet toad.

A glance at the clock determined she had more than enough time to find her husband's name… if she wasn't too picky. Starting anew, she lifted her finger to peek at the word hiding underneath: _strange_. Okay… Strange. Mr and Mrs Strange. Stephen Strange. Hermione Strange. She giggled. That wasn't half bad.

Scrawling the new name on the parchment, she watched in satisfaction as it glowed gold and vanished in a shower of sparks. Her marriage was filed at the Ministry. That was easy. She was now officially married and off the hook of their ridiculous marriage law until they could prove otherwise. Good luck with that! It was far easier proving someone existed rather that they didn't.

ooo

Across the ocean, days later, Wong tried to chase away an irate owl from the sanctum without much luck.

"It's day, you silly bird! Go sleep up a tree or something!"

But the feathery menace dive bombed on Strange the second he stepped foot in the hall, dropping a parchment in his hand and poop on his boot.

"Wong? What did you do to the mailman?"

"That is not the mailman," Wong replied and rolled his eyes at having to state the obvious.

"This letters begs to differ." His eyes scrolled down the thick parchment, then up at him. "According to this, I'm a newlywed! I'll just pop over to say hello and meet her, but I expect a wedding gift when I return."

Before Wong could ask if he was serious, Strange had opened a portal and vanished, but he had a glimpse of a pale woman with crazy hair and fluffy pajamas. So, after much consideration, he put on his Beyoncé playlist and browsed online shops for a sturdy hairbrush


	21. Something More

**Something More**

 **Pairing: Bruce Banner/Hermione Granger**

 **Rating: G / K**

 **Summary: Secrets make dating complicated.**

Hermione held her breath. She thought they were on the same page, but for the life of her, she couldn't read the expression on the doctor's face. It was as if he was both happy she had asked him out on a date, and horrified. At the same time. So she wasn't sure yet if she should feel relieved or horrified. If he didn't answer soon, however, she was simply going to pass out from lack of oxygen.

"I would love to, Dr Granger… Hermione. Believe me. But it's better I refuse."

She had to admit she hadn't expected his answer to anger her. Dr Banner was such a sweet and charming man, and they'd been talking for hours now. Asking him for dinner had been a bit precocious, maybe, but she rarely got on this well with anyone, not someone on her intellectual level in any case. She didn't understand what he meant with his cryptic answer, or was he just trying to let her down easy and doing a very poor job of it.

"You can just say no. I won't be offended."

Dr Banner bit his bottom lip. Hermione wanted to bite his bottom lip. Oh Merlin, she had it bad.

"I…" He shook his head. "I really want to say yes, but it's not safe for you."

"I'm sure I can take care of myself." She narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you afraid of?"

"You don't want to know. I realize you like taking on seemingly impossible challenges… and what you've achieved with Dr Foster is impressive, but this is not one you want to take on. It's…"

"Complicated?" she finished for him. "Life wouldn't be half as interesting if I shied away from challenges. You wouldn't believe the things I've done and I don't regret a single challenge I took on, so I don't see why you'd think you can scare me off so easily."

"I'm not… who you think I am."

"You're not Dr Banner?"

"No, I am, but…"

"But…?"

The doctor sighed and looked her straight in the eye, his own flashing a green as vivid as the killing curse for a mere moment. Hermione gasped at this unexpected development, but it only made her want him even more. She really did like a challenge. Everytime she overcame one, she had this rush of fulfillment that made her feel like she was on top of the world.

"You're something more?" she asked, glancing around to make sure no one could overhear.

"You could say that."

Hermione snapped her fingers to make her bluebell flames dance at the tips. The look of surprise on Banner's face was adorable.

"Good thing I happen to be something more, too. So, about this dinner?"


	22. Can't Sleep?

**Can't Sleep**

 **Pairing: Steve Rogers/Hermione Granger**

 **Rating: G / K**

 **Summary: Something keeps Steve up at night.**

Steve tossed and turned in his bed. Everything was fine: he had found Bucky, there was no one out to get him or one of his teammates for a change, nor was there any invasion of aliens, sewer creatures or other man-made monsters eating the city and its inhabitants. Everything was just… fine. He flipped over on his stomach, but gave up trying to find sleep in _any_ position after another fifteen minutes, and threw his covers off himself to jump out of bed.

He blamed the serum.

He needed a lot less sleep than anyone else he knew, not counting Tony who actually _needed_ the sleep and just did without somehow. So, instead of wasting his time rolling in his sheets, Steve put on his gym clothes and headed down to rip apart a few new punching bags, hoping that would do the trick.

Once there, however, he found the gym already occupied.

"Can't sleep?" he asked Natasha who was twisting her body in unnatural ways.

She paused with one leg hooked behind her neck, reaching forward to stretch her hands forward.

"Jetlagged. I just got back from India."

"No trace of Bruce?"

She shook her head.

"What about you? I can set my watch by your schedule and you're usually sleeping at this hour. What's up?"

"Nothing," he said quickly and focused on wrapping his knuckles with the white tape. "Just… couldn't sleep. No reason."

"Really? Didn't you have that date with Julie from accounting coming up? Are you nervous about going?"

Steve's shoulders sagged. She always knew where to hit, as if she had some I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it radar.

"It was tonight. Well, last night, I should say."

"And it didn't go well?"

"It was horrible. Everything. It was awkward and she kept asking really embarrassing questions. I left as soon as I could and I sort of feel bad about it."

"So that's why you can't sleep? Sounds like she deserved much worse than you cutting the date short."

Steve shook his head. In for a penny…

"I went for a walk after that."

Natasha stopped all her stretching, her limbs falling limply around her but her gaze sharp and focused on him.

"Something unusual happened," he added.

"Well… it is New-York."

Steve smiled at her, feeling more at ease. She was a lot like Sam in that aspect, except she made people talk to get information and blackmail material out of them, while Sam used his gift to help vets work through psychological trauma.

"I heard shouting, so I went to check if anyone needed my help, and there was this woman fighting off three men. I have no idea how, but by the time I got there, she had made them run off."

"She seems interesting."

"She is," Steve said with a nod. "I got her to sit down for a bit because she was shaking, so I got to talk to her…"

Steve got lost in his memory: her long dark curls, her clever brown eyes, her porcelain skin and her enchanting accent, all wrapped in one tough little dame who could kick any man's butt to the kerb, or three as the case may be.

"And?" Natasha prompted.

Steve looked at her. She probably wouldn't judge him. She was always trying to hook him up, and if he had a type of women he prefered, that wasn't his fault. It was pretty common, right?

"She was so much like Peggy," he confessed, glancing down at his hands. "It was like meeting her again for the first time at boot camp. She put a bloke twice her size at her feet back then, you know? Punched him right in the guts. But… well, I realize it's weird for me to be interested in a woman just because she reminds me of someone else… and… I don't have any way to contact her anyway." He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "I should just forget about her."

"But you can't… That's why you can't sleep, isn't it? Who is she? Give me her name and I'll find her for you. I'll drag her in if I have to."

"That's a bit over the top, Nat, but thanks. So… you don't think it's weird?"

Natasha scoffed.

"Of course not. So you like tough little brunettes, who cares? I'm just happy you're finally interested in someone who isn't _related_ to Peggy. Now _that_ was a bit creepy."

Steve winced as he thought of Sharon, but he pushed that particular regret out of his mind. If he had known, he never would have started down that road.

"Are you going to give me her name now?" Natasha needled, bumping her shoulder against his arm.

"Only if you promise not to kidnap her."

"Oh, alright, I promise."

"Hermione Granger," Steve said, the beautiful name conjuring the image of when she had shaken his hand with a blush before disappearing as mysteriously as she had appeared.


	23. In Case of Emergency

**In Case of Emergency**

 **Pairing: Natasha Romanov/Kingsley Shacklebolt**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: Years ago, Fury gave Coulson a number to call in case of emergency.**

Years ago, Fury had given him a number to call in case he dropped off the face of the Earth so completely, there was a very likely probability he was dead or on his way to. Phil had kept the scrap of paper preciously, even more so than his Captain America vintage card collection, but he now had it in his hands, the ink only a little faded, and he was seriously considering dialing the mysterious phone number.

Fury had disappeared for six days now, had missed a meeting with him and couldn't be located or contacted in any of the usual ways. _Natasha_ couldn't find him and that was most worrying of all. Even Agent Hill was worried.

So no, Phil decided he was not overreacting. It was time to call. He had tried to trace the number first, of course, but it only came to dead ends or nonsense. Whoever was behind this number was good at hiding their tracks.

So he called. It rang, and rang, then went to voicemail, which was a disappointment. The message was a standard automated voicemail too, leaving him no clue as to who it belonged to. So he waited for the strident beep and left his contact info, only mentioning he needed help for a common friend. He was not expecting much from this lead despite Fury's trust in it.

When he wasn't contacted within the hour, he put it in the back of his mind. When he hadn't heard back by evening, he didn't hold up much hope. Phil was grabbing something to eat from the cafeteria when his phone rang. Masked number.

"Agent Coulson?"

Phil was stunned, and a bit angry to be honest.

"Director Fury?"

But then, whoever was at the other end of the line was not the director because he laughed, a deep booming laugh that was completely alien and so very unlike Fury.

"Im sorry, no. My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. What trouble did my idiot cousin get into this time?"

Phil had always thought the expression 'too stunned for words' was an exaggeration, but he was currently struck speechlessness.

"Agent Coulson?"

He cleared his throat.

"Yes. I… never heard someone call the director an idiot and live to tell the tale, that is all. Nick Fury has disappeared without a trace for six days and my best agents have come back empty handed. He gave me this number years ago in case of such an emergency..."

He let the sentence hang because he had no idea what this mysterious cousin was supposed to do that his agents couldn't.

"Without a trace… do you mean that literally?"

"I do. We don't even know where to start. It's as if he vanished into thin air."

"I will be there as soon as possible. Where shall I meet you?"

Phil gave him the address of a SHIELD office downtown that was easy to find and access. Given Shacklebolt's accent, he'd been worried for a moment he was located in England but he had promised to be there in an hour. Phil contacted Natasha and Clint to meet him there, while Agent Hill continued to do the routine search with the rest of SHIELD. His watch was running a bit fast so he refrained from looking impatient, but he was on high-alert, so when a man suddenly appeared in their midst, his gun was drawn and aimed at the back of his head. So were Natasha's knives and Clint's bow, he was happy to note.

The man raised his hands and slowly turned around to face them. It was a challenge not to gape at him: tall, dark, bold with a don't-fuck-with-me face. He could have been Fury's twin, except for a few details. Two functional eyes, a golden loop in one ear which was both weird and hilarious to look at, and he obviously preferred cotton to leather. Phil glanced at his agents. Natasha seemed as collected as ever, but Clint was openly staring at their visitor.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, it's a pleasure to meet you," Phil said, holstering his gun and holding out his hand.

Shacklebolt shook it with a firm grip.

"I see Nick still surrounds himself with interesting people."

Even the voice was similar, accent apart. It was eery. If Shacklebolt didn't have two eyes, he would have thought Fury was trying to pull a prank on him.

"I'm Agent Coulson. This is Agent Romanov and Agent Barton."

Shacklebolt actually had the balls to bow over the Black Widow's hand to kiss it. Worse was that she seemed flustered over the gesture. Barton was still gaping as he shook his hand.

"You look like his twin," he blurted out.

Phil did his best not to facepalm.

"Thank you for stating the obvious, agent. When you asked if the director had really disappeared without a trace, it had something to do with the way you arrived, I assume."

Shacklebolt nodded.

"He might have been targeted because of me. Or it might just be a coincidence, and he got in the way of my kind."

"Your kind?"

"The less said…" Shacklebolt said with a wink. "I'll need one of you to assist me so I can access information and locations? One who isn't prone to motion sickness preferably."

All three of them filled those criteria but his agents were both better fighters in the field, and he didn't want Fury's cousin to get hurt. Agent Romanoff was, in that aspect, by far the best and most experienced in protection detail up close and personal.

"Romanov."

She nodded and took a step towards Shacklebolt, standing at attention.

"I will find Nick and get him back to you," Shacklebolt promised before questioning Romanov and offering her his arm. After an imperceptible hesitation, she slipped her arm through his, letting her hand rest on his forearm. The next instant, a loud crack echoed around the room and they were gone.

"I hate Fury sometimes," Barton muttered as he collapsed his bow. "Just when you think you know all his secrets, WHAM! He's got a secret twin teleporting all over the place."

Phil nodded. They were going to have words when he reappeared. A little warning would have been appreciated.

The only reason Natasha was not going to sick up on her own boots was because Coulson had trusted her not too. So she held her breath an extra second and blinked maybe a beat too long, but she was good to go.

Shacklebolt gave her a sideways look she pretended not to notice and she gestured towards the corner building.

"We've retrieved his car from this parking spot and we know he was the one driving it here. He had a two minute walk to cover to his building's porch but he never made it. We have found nothing. No footage, no forensics, no witnesses and we haven't been contacted for ransom of any sort."

Shacklebolt nodded, his earring glinting every time it caught the light. Strange how two men so alike physically gave off such different vibes. Fury had always put her on edge, even now that he trusted her, but his cousin had the complete opposite effect, putting her at ease when she didn't even know him. She had _never_ been at ease with anyone save Clint, who had earned it after a few years, and Steve, because he was Steve and wouldn't hurt a butterfly if he could help it.

Even when Shacklebolt produced a wand from the depths of his sleeve, revealing himself to be a Vedmak, she did not feel threatened. And she had met quite a few warlocks in her time in Russia who had deserved to be at the business end of her daggers. Shacklebolt waved his wand around, muttering incantations in latin and producing either sparks or tendrils of light. When he was finished, the wand returned to the confines of his sleeve and he glanced at her.

"You're singularly unimpressed, Miss Romanoff."

"I have met Vedmak before. Warlocks?"

"In some countries. We prefer wizards, generally. It sounds less… ominous."

"Misleading though. You seem to always be at war."

Shacklebolt winced.

"I can't contradict you on that one," he said and offered her his arm once more.

They didn't teleport again, however. They seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be taking a leisurely stroll.

"But so do non-magical people," he added. "From what I know, anyway. We don't mix often with the going-ons outside our community."

"Except when family members get misplaced?"

"Indeed," he stopped and did more magic. "I'm afraid Nick was taken by wizards or witches from this very spot. They didn't bother to hide their trail, so either they didn't expect their kind to come looking…"

"Or it's a trap. You're important in your community?"

"Somewhat," he said with a wry smile that meant he was very important. "It's not so much the position itself than what I am doing with it. I've made quite a few enemies."

"In America?"

"Everywhere. I'm trying to bring my people into the future, make them a part of this world and the more traditionalist wizards and witches rather resent my efforts. It is a necessity however. At this point, it's either getting discovered as freaks of nature or presenting ourselves to the world on our own terms. We're walking the razor's edge as it is."

Natasha nodded. It all seemed to fit.

"Why did they keep Fury so long instead of using him against you."

"I've been thinking about that. I imagine they wanted to use him against me in a more direct way. Mind-control, what we call the imperius, but he's too strong willed for it to work on him; or maybe they wanted to use his blood to cross my wards; polyjuice is a possibility too, but since he's as bold as I am, maybe they're waiting for his hair to grow out…"

Natasha didn't get all of that, but it seemed there could be a dozen reasons she could not have guessed at, because of magic.

"So we go?" Natasha asked, getting impatient.

"I am, but you don't have to."

"I owe him."

Shacklebolt stared down at her, as if he could see into her very soul, and maybe he could since she knew so little about Vedmaks, but she stood her ground. The Director had a much more impressive stare and she had withered it more than once.

"In that case…" Shacklebolt rapped the top of her head with his wand and a cool sensation seemed to slowly trickle down from that point until she realized she was invisible, as was her escort.

"Shacklebolt?"

"Please call me Kingsley," he purred in her ear as his large hand found hers. "Follow me, and stay close."

Her heart was pounding like that time in Budapest. Kingsley was flirting with her, no doubt about it, and she found it rather titillating, whether it was because he looked so much like Fury was a question she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to. They made their way easily into an old dilapidated building that was actually in much better state inside, suspiciously so. By Kingsley's muttered spells and occasional flashes of light, she knew he was magicking their way through the large place, making a beeline for his cousin. She knew they were close when they came upon their first wizards standing guard in a narrow corridor. The two dropped to the floor before she could do anything. Not used to being useless, especially during an infiltration mission, she nonetheless followed the wizard's lead without complaint since this was his turf, and he knew what he was doing. They progressed smoothly without raising an alarm, and she had to wonder if Fury had been captured by the most idiotic, inept wizards around or if Kingsley was just that good. She didn't drop her guard down, however, which is how she noticed a slight shift in the air when they rounded another corner. Despite not seeing anyone, her widow's bite struck true and they heard the dull thud of a body hitting the carpeted floor. Kingsley whispered a spell and a man's body appeared before them.

"Nice," Kingsley said, sounding like he really meant it.

Soon after, they disposed of two more guards standing at a door and her heart raced because Fury would obviously be behind it since they had been guarding a door and not patrolling the corridors like the others. She hoped the Director would be in good shape. God only knew what they might have done to him. She didn't bother looking for keys on the guards since they seemed to use magic to lock doors, and instead waited for Kingsley to squeeze her hand in signal to storm the next room.

However, once it was open, she lost her grip on him as he was pulled away and she saw him… no, Fury, rolling around on the floor, choking an invisible mass.

"Fury! SIR! That's your cousin!"

"Romanov?" Fury growled, but he stopped strangling Kingsley even if his grip relaxed only minutely.

"Yes, sir. Agent Coulson called your cousin for assistance."

"It's me, you big oaf," Kingsley muttered.

Fury let go and stood.

"About time. I was on my way out, anyway."

Natasha looked around and sure enough, cut ropes and two more unconscious bodies lay on the floor. If anyone could have escaped wizards, it would be Fury. Her invisibility stopped, as did Kingsley's and she stared openly at the two almost identical men before her. The slight differences were easier to spot with both of them standing so close while they insulted each other fondly. Weird family, to be sure.

"Should we go?" Natasha asked. "In case more come."

Kingsley nodded.

"I'll inform the American Ministry to take care of these morons, but first, let's get you back home."

He offered his arm to arm, which she took without hesitation, then to Fury, who grumbled about hating that mode of transportation, and they twisted away, reappearing in front of a startled Coulson who had his gun pointed at them before holstering it with a sigh.

"I'll never get used to that. Sir, it's good to see you again."

"You _had_ to call him?" Fury grumbled as he pointed a thumb at Kingsley.

"You were gone for a week, sir."

"I'll never hear the end of it now. Christmas is going to be unbearable."

Coulson shared an incredulous look with her. They simply couldn't picture Fury at a family dinner, bickering with his cousin and who knew what other family he had, like any other normal person.

Kingsley held her back while Coulson caught Fury up to speed.

"How about a late dinner once I've cleared matters with the magical authorities here?"

Natasha took in his confident smile and heated gaze that made a shiver run down her back. She couldn't find a single reason to refuse, and if she played her cards right, she might just be able to see the fabled family dinner with the Director with her very own eyes.


	24. One of Many

**One of Many**

 **Paring: Tony Stark/Nymphadora Tonks**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: "In a world where soul marks were meant to help you find "The One", Tony had a very simple explanation as to why he was such a man-whore."**

In a world where soul marks were meant to help you find "The One", Tony had a very simple explanation as to why he was such a man-whore. Others were like him, too, but because they wanted to have fun before settling down with the love of their life, some to rebel against the very idea of predestination, and a few were just not very good at recognizing the likeness between their soul-mate and the soul-mark portraying them right on their left wrist.

Tony stared down at his own. On today's menu: a man with short, dark hair, a large nose and globular eyes. Urgh. Pass. And this wasn't even the worst face his wrist had presented him with. Once, he could have sworn he had seen a woman with a duck-beak. Not that he told anyone. He always covered his wrist and claimed he was a free man, putting himself firmly in the second category. He put the unattractive man out of his mind and went on with his day.

That night, preparing himself for a charity gala, he glanced down at his wrist but it was still Mr-Eyeballs staring back at him. He shuddered and buttoned his shirt, making sure the soul-portrait was completely hidden, no matter how much he gesticulated.

"You're late," Pepper muttered in his ear while she pretended to kiss him on the cheek in greeting. "There were several investors I wanted you to meet and dazzle."

"Just point me towards the richest one around and I'll make it a sure thing, Pep. We can always deal with the small fry later. Invite them for brunch or something."

"You'll have to be there," Pepper warned as she steered him towards a man holding court to a group of people who looked star-struck.

Tony took a good look at him, expecting someone famous, but he came up empty-handed and waited for Pepper to introduce him.

"Tony, this is Mr Potter from London. He has been investing worldwide in alternate energy sources and electric circuitry."

"Interesting combo," Tony said as he shook his hand. "Any particular reason you want to change the way things have been done since forever?"

He ignored Pepper's sharp elbow jab in his ribs, intrigued by the younger man's knowing smirk.

"You know how it is: lights keep flickering at home and electricians can't do shite about it, so I'm just looking for another solution that doesn't involve candles. Wax is really hard to get out of carpets."

Tony laughed.

"Go big or go home, eh? I think we'll get along just fine."

Potter nodded and a disembodied voice invited them to be seated for the start of the night's entertainment. Pepper took Potter's card to set up a meeting and someone came to direct his newest investor to his seat. Tony had barely glanced in his direction when he noticed the large, round eyes, the short dark hair… he froze in utter horror because that was the living image of the man on his wrist. He had never met one of the faces on his wrist before and he couldn't help but gape at him. Potter must have noticed because he pulled his companion around.

"This is Tonks, an old friend. Have you two met already?"

"No!" Tonks hissed while Tony shook his head, unable to think of something clever to say for once, not even about how ridiculous his name sounded.

"Really? Because this guy looks like the spitting image of the guy you have-"

Tonks clamped a hand over Potter's mouth and dragged him away, hissing threats in his ear until they disappeared from view in the crowd. If Tonks hadn't been introduced as a friend of his, Tony would have thought the guy was being kidnapped. They sure were drawing enough incredulous looks their way.

"I suppose you're not the most badly behaved tonight," Pepper commented as she pulled him the other way.

Tony let her, still in a daze as his eyes searched for the strange pair. He still wasn't the least bit attracted by Tonks, although he had to admit the man smelled nice, but he was intrigued. He couldn't help it, there had to be a reason why Tonks was on his wrist. He took advantage of the uninspired entertainment taking place to uncuff his shirt and roll it back to peek at his soul-mark, just to be sure, but there, instead of Tonks' bulging eyeballs and large nose was Potter's face. Tony blinked and rubbed at the face but it was still Potter's.

 _What… the… fuck._

This wasn't how it was supposed to work. He shouldn't have a myriad faces changing all the time. Why couldn't he have a normal soul-mark and be happy, like most of the rest of the world? It wasn't fair. Well, life rarely was, but still. Why him? He would get to the bottom of this however. Excusing himself, he went in search of the Potter-Tonks duo. They weren't in their own seats but someone pointed him towards the bathrooms. Perfect. He would corner them there until he got answers.

Striding into the bathroom, he stopped dead at the sight of two green-eyed Potters staring back at him.

"Now I'm even more confused," he snapped. "One of you better explain before I summon my suit and blast the answers out of you."

"I'll have him if you won't," the Potter on the left said.

The other one pursed his lips, holding his wrist with his other hand. Bingo.

"You," Tony said and stepped right in the face of the Potter on the right, then froze because he smelled… nice. Like Tonks. Like the previous face on his wrist. "Tonks?" he asked uncertainly.

He couldn't explain how, but he knew from experience there were stranger things in the world than someone who could change faces. Best part was that it would explain _everything_. Except why he had never sought him out.

"You are Tonks, right? The guy from before?"

The real Potter chuckled, but the fake Potter nodded and his face morphed back to the bulging eyeballs and large nose configuration even if the hair remained as messy as before.

"Wow. That's impressive. Sure explains a lot. May I?" he asked, waving a hand toward his wrist.

He didn't like people touching him, so he certainly wasn't going to do it to another. Tonks stared wide-eyed at him, then at Potter who nodded encouragingly, before offering his wrist. Tony held it in both hands and sure enough, there was his face staring back at him. He turned his own wrist next to it and there was Tonks with Potter's hair.

"So it's always been you? All these faces?"

Tonks nodded.

"Why didn't you look for me?" Tony asked, keeping the hurt from colouring his voice. "I'm quite easy to find, or so I've been told."

Tonks snorted.

"By the time I did, I found out you were sleeping around with just about anyone, and claimed not to believe in soul-marks. You only found me tonight because Harry tricked me into coming here. I didn't know you would be attending."

"Harsh," Tony said, defeated. He'd done this to himself. "But understandable."

"What about you?" Potter asked. "Why don't you believe in soul-marks?"

Tony let go of Tonks' wrist reluctantly.

"I used to. My parents found each other with their soul-marks and were happy. I was ecstatic when mine appeared. It was a woman at first, I remember, but soon, it changed, and it kept changing. The press was already hounding me, I didn't want to give them any more fodder to use against me, so I didn't tell anyone about it. I thought it meant I didn't deserve a soul-mate, so I didn't look for you…"

Tonks reached for him unexpectedly, making him flinch. His globulous eyes softened, then darkened in colour and became the shape of lovely doe eyes that were completely at odd with the rest of his face.

"I'm not sure if it's rude to ask, but do you have a… erm… real face?"

The man smiled, then turned towards Potter.

"Out," he ordered.

"What? Why? I know what you really look like!"

"Think so, do you? You insolent little brat. Out, before I throw you out."

Tony found that against all odds, he actually liked this man. His no-nonsense and confidence… maybe they could make this work. He had a preference for women, but a few of his flings with men had turned out quite well.

Potter finally left them alone and Tony looked in trepidation as his soul-mate began to shift. Not only his face, but his whole body: shrinking, slimming in places, filling out in others, the face rounder, long dark curly hair… the doe eyes fit right in now, even if the suit didn't any more.

"You're a woman!"

"I can be anything, you dolt, or didn't you deduce that from your soul-mark? And here I thought you were supposed to be smart."

"I'm tech-smart. People are complicated. So this is the real you?"

She nodded.

"And your friend never saw you like this?"

"Better not. I look like my crazy aunt and she killed Harry's Godfather. I don't want him to look at me differently."

"If he does, he's the idiot."

"Trying to pass off your crown already? Anyway, I'm not comfortable in my skin either. I usually look like this."

She changed again, taller, her built more athletic but what was most striking was her short bubble-gum pink hair. Tony chuckled happily at the unexpected sight.

"I love it. It does suit you rather well."

He looked at his wrist and sure enough, there was the image of her she preferred. Without the distraction of the bright pink hair, the grayscale version of her likeness did seem familiar. When he looked back at her, she had stepped closer. Very close, in fact.

"We've both made mistakes… Shall we start over? How about dinner?" she asked with a purr.

"Dinner? How about breakfast?"


	25. How I Accidentally Got Myself Kidnapped

**How I Accidentally Got Myself Kidnapped by the Winter Soldier**

 **Pairing: Hermione Granger/Bucky Barnes**

 **Rating: G / K**

 **Summary: Because she's not really the brightest witch of her age and is too nosy for her own good, Hermione gets into a spot of trouble.**

His eyes were the most wonderful shade of blue, just short of the moonlight blue of the wolfsbane potion, but as light as a summer's sky. When he looked my way though, they appeared darker than any brown eyes I had ever seen before, so full of pain and loss, they made my heart ache and my hands reach for him.

Of course, me being a perfect stranger, it was perfectly understandable that he had put me in a headlock and spirited me away in a dark alley. I should have known better than to touch someone who was obviously suffering from severe PTSD since I worked with them at St Mungo's on a daily basis. Brightest witch of my age, pff.

"Who are you? SHIELD? Hydra?"

I tried to answer, but only a squeak made it passed my lips and I tried to pull his arm away from my trachea. Might as well try to lift a mountain. His arm was as hard as rock, as if he had been partially petrified. Now, he had me truly curious. Seeming to understand my desperate attempt to breathe, he relaxed his hold.

"I'm Hermione."

"Hermione?"

He scowled, his eyes darkening further.

"That's my name. Hermione Granger."

"I don't care. Who do you work for?"

"The hospital. I'm a healer. I work with people who have suffered like you are. I saw you and I thought…"

"You think you can help me?" he scoffed as if I was a silly little girl playing doctor.

"I happen to be very good at what I do."

I kept my chin up, daring him to mock me again and not caring one whit if I looked like a snooty know-it-all. I _was_ that good. The best.

"We'll see about that," he said and carried me away into the night.


	26. Impossible is not Stark

**Impossible is not Stark**

 **Pairing: Hermione Granger/Howard Stark**

 **Rating: G / K**

 **Summary: Howard tries everything to save Steve, even if it means inventing a Time Travelling Machine.**

His newest creation might explode, Howard was perfectly aware of that, but given the potential, he was perfectly fine going through with it anyway. Just imagine: time travel! He could go back and snatch Steve right before his plane crashed. A much worthier effort than poking around ocean and ice in the vain hope of retrieving his body. And maybe Howard had succeeded and that was why they hadn't found the Captain yet… No, wait. He hadn't accomplished anything yet, so up to this point, Steve was still there… except… Well, he had to be somewhere.

Howard pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Enough dilly-dallying, now was the time to test his baby and there was no time like the past ! Pulling down three levers in a row, he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. The portal should open any moment now.

But instead, the lights flickered and the power began shutting off.

"Oh, nonono."

Good thing he had implemented a solution, just in case this sort of thing happened. Pulling the fourth lever, he hoped no one noticed a little power outage on the East Coast or if they did, because they couldn't possibly be that moronic, that they wouldn't track it down to him. Still worth it if they did. The lights came back on and a ball of golden light started growing in the middle of his modified faraday cage. His heart was pounding against his ribcage in time with the waves of energy hitting the metal cage inches from his nose. It was working! Well, mostly. It had not exploded at least, but it wasn't stabilizing either. He couldn't use it this way, but it was useful as a test run since his instruments were recording all the readings from… whatever he had accomplished.

A high whizzing sound started, rising in pitch in such an ominous way, Howard decided to take cover in the next room, just in time for a flash of light and a loud bang to make the walls of Stark Industry shudder. He patted the wall next to him, proud of how sturdy his building was. Had to be, in truth, with what he got up to down here.

Peeking into his lab through the singed doorway, Howard glimpsed the cage torn apart as if some unimaginable horror had made its way out. Worse thing was that might actually be the case. He was going to need a gun. Inching into the lab, he found his handgun. He checked the cage again and looked back at his sad little weapon. He was going to need a bigger gun. Luckily, he had prototype nearby and he felt much safer pointing it towards the smoking hole his experiment had left in his lab.

Upon closer inspection, nothing had crawled out of the cage. However, something had come through his portal and was lying at the bottom of the cage. Howard prodded it with the tip of his weapon, making it groan.

"Show yourself! Whatever you are!"

The thing unfolded, only to reveal a pale woman with singed and still smoking clothes who looked around her with disbelief. Alright, not what he'd expected, but he'd roll with it.

"Don't shoot," she said, raising both arms. "Unless I'm already dead, in which case I doubt it matters."

Howard cicked his head to the side, trying very hard not to leer at what skin she was showing through her rapidly disintegrating clothes. She wasn't the least bit threatening though, so he lowered his gun.

"You don't look dead, but you will be naked soon," he remarked with a wicked grin. "I have spare clothes next door if you wish to change."

He learned his mistake when he'd had to walk into the main hall half-naked himself in order to find someone to get him a new set of clothes. The woman looked past him to the room where he'd taken refuge. If she was thinking of running away, she would find herself disappointed to find the doors locked. Once she left, Howard eagerly verified his readings and they were all as good as he'd expected. He would bet his money the portal hadn't been able to stabilize due to the lack of energy.

"Erm, hello?"

Howard whirled around and grinned at seeing the woman in his clothes. It was kind if alluring actually.

"You clean up nicely," he said.

"Thanks… I think. Could you explain what the bloody hell is going on? Where am I? And most importantly: when?"

"Aha! I knew it! I did it! I'm a genius!"

The woman put a hand on her hip, looking completely unimpressed by his outburst. That wouldn't do. The ladies loved him. Even the ladies mothers loved him. He was that charming.

"Forgive me. My name is Howard. Howard Stark. Maybe you've heard of me? No? But you will, because I just invented a time machine! That's right: a time-machine!And your very existence can prove it! How far back did I go?"

She looked him up and down, then pursed her lips.

"You're an idiot. And Muggles can't and have never built time-machines. When is this? The forties? Fifties? It's preposterous. It's impossible."

"Impossible is not Stark, baby. That word is not part of our vocabulary."

"I bet conceited arse is, because you must hear it on a daily basis."

Howard stared at her. She was very much like dear Peggy. He'd better wear his kevlar underwear if she proved as much of a firecracker. He cleared his throat, refusing to answer her last barb.

"So when are you from, beautiful? And where? You don't exactly sound local."

"You realize I asked you the exact same questions just a-"

"1949. Malibu."

"Oh. Erm… 2005. London."

Howard made a note. That was way off the mark. Waaaay off. But very interesting. The things he could learn about the future.

"Can you send me back now?"

"Uhm? Why?" he asked distractedly as he scribbled corrections to his previous miscalculations.

"Why? Why?!" His clipboard was snatched away from under his nose, so he finally looked up at his guest. "Why do you think, Stark? Do you always go willy-nilly kidnapping people through time and space? Do you have a room full of them somewhere around here? Or do you keep them in a fridge maybe? Keep them nice and fresh."

"Erm…" He hadn't actually meant to bring anyone back through his portal save Steve so he hadn't thought of a way to send someone back. Not yet, anyway. "I'll have to work on that."

She huffed and he could feel another rant coming, so he cut her off short before she started.

"It's time travel, babe. What does it matter if you have to wait for a bit until I get it sorted out? Then I'll send you back to the exact same time and place I borrowed you from."

"Well, it doesn't have to be quite that exact. If you could just get me there a few minutes later, I would be grateful."

"Really? Any particular reason for the delay?"

"From what I remember of my last seconds in my timeline, someone tried to kill me just before you fished me out and I'd rather not give them a second chance to finish the job."


	27. A Little Nudge

**A Little Nudge**

 **Pairing: Natasha Romanov / Neville Longbottom / Ginny Weasley**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: A voice compels Natasha to do things.**

Natasha would never admit it, but she loved when the whole team went out for drinks in some obscure bar as if they were just a bunch of normal friends hanging out together after work, which, technically, was correct. It was true whether they were in New-York or in a foreign country like tonight. So she was a bit annoyed when a second large group entered the place and made it twice as loud and crowded, because she now felt uncomfortable, unable to keep an eye on everyone at once. She told as much to Clint but he brushed off her concerns.

"Have fun," he'd said. "Nothing's going to happen," he'd said.

But something did. There was suddenly a seductive whisper in the back of her mind telling her to do things, and despite all her willpower, all her training, she couldn't shake it off. She had to obey. She wanted to obey. She thought it was a trick from Loki himself at first, but the voice belonged to a woman. Full of scorn and hate. Besides, it wanted her to use her wiles on the new arrivals, and not her friends so she didn't care all that much.

She had to find Neville Longbottom, the tall man, the one with a scar across his face. He was handsome, in an unusual way, so she really didn't mind, and when she approached him, hips swaying, words ghosting over his ear… he wasn't reluctant at all. No harm done, in sum.

She led him to a corner and let her tongue and hands become adventurous. She ignored the flashes she caught out of the corner of her eye. Because the voice told her too, but she could feel its annoyance and frustration.

More.

More… what? Save taking the poor man's pants off and doing the deed right there and then, she couldn't do much more. Thankfully, the voice elaborated and ordered her to grab a redhead who has been awkwardly gawking at them nearby.

Tricky. Natasha had to use all her skills to persuade the other woman to join them, but she finally got this Ginny aboard to sandwiched their companion, turning him into a mushy mess of want.

To be honest, Natasha continued even when the voice's hold on her vanished, simply because she was having too much fun, and only stopped when the barkeep hollered at them to go get a room.

Natasha suspected Neville and Ginny had followed through the way they left hand in hand and cheeks aflame. She never knew, however, that she had made the front page of The Daily Prophet with two war heroes, causing quite the scandal in the more conservative wizarding world.


	28. The Leprechaun King and the Fairy Queen

**Pairing: Bruce/Luna**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: Bruce discovers a whole new world he never knew existed after a fairy helps him out of the hole the Hulk left him in.**

Bruce has no idea where he is. Still in India hopefully, but he's crossed countries before without realizing it, and he knows for certain he hulked out. The state of his clothes are a good enough indicator of that, so is the crater he woke up in. He hates it all so much. The lack of control over his own body and mind, over his whole messed up life. If only he could end it…

"Yeah, I know you won't let me," Bruce mutters when he feels the Hulk stir inside.

With a sigh, he picks himself up, holding up what's left of his pants and looks up at the edge of the crater. That's going to be a bitch to climb out of. The ground is soft, his feet sink into the mushy earth and there is nothing to hold unto. After his fourth attempt, he gives up and sits back in his hole. Talk about digging your own grave. It's freezing too. At this rate, he might as well hulk out and let the big guy bounce out of here. He has no idea where he is though. Not India after all. It's too damp and cold. But what if there's a city nearby?

"Found you!"

Startled, Bruce holds his heart, willing it to slow down. At the edge of the pit, he can see a pale face with even paler hair looking down at him. He has no earthly idea who that is, but when she waves at him, he waves back.

"Don't suppose you have some rope up there? Or a ladder?"

Chances are next to nill, so he's not surprised when she shakes her head.

"Don't move. I'll get you out."

Suddenly he's floating up, very slowly, as if she had somehow turned off gravity for him. He enjoys the feeling of weightlessness right up until he starts tilting around and ends up with his head upside down.

He stops going up when he finds himself nose to nose with his rescuer. She's beautiful, even upside down, even if her large blue eyes are a bit unsettling.

"Thank you," he says. "I'm Bruce."

"Luna," she answers as she reaches for him to spin him around, right side up.

Then gravity returns. Her hands are still on him though, and it's weird because he's half naked and now she poking him with her index.

"That's a really good disguise you have."

"I'm… not wearing one."

It should be obvious. He's not wearing much of anything.

"But you were really big, and really green when you fell down."

"Uhm, yes. I suppose you could say _that_ was my disguise. This is the real me."

Hulk is not happy about being dismissed so casually, but he's oddly quiet about it for once.

"Oh," her face falls as if she disappointed by all his normalcy. She is. "I thought I'd finally found the Leprechaun King."

Bruce laughs, but it peters out when he realizes she's serious.

"There's no such thing. Right?"

But who knows? In a world where a giant green rage monster exists, _anything_ is possible. Even her, with her ethereal beauty and the way she switches gravity on and off like its nothing.

"Are you a fairy or something?"

Her laugh is as delicate as bells, and as otherworldly as the rest of her. The Other Guy is pleased. His rumble of content makes it through him and it sounds like he's purring. Bruce blushes all the way down to his shredded pants.

"You're not wrong. They wanted to make me Queen, but their crown was too small. I introduced them to the concept of democracy though. They've taken to it quite well."

She startles a laugh out of him. She sounds so serious as she says the most outlandish things. Heck, he wants to believe in her stories, because how much more wonderful would the world be if they were true.

And he's tempted to believe she is in fact a fairy, because when he shivers, she makes clothes appear; when it starts raining, the drops don't touch them; when his stomach rumbles, he's suddenly on the edges of a town. A quaint little English town by the looks of it, with Christmas lights up and the sound of carols in the streets.

"Won't you come with me? The least I can do is offer you coffee." He hopes to follow that with dinner or at least get her number to invite her whenever she's free. He doesn't want to let her go, and neither does the Other Guy.

"I'd love to but I can't."

"Of course. I guess you have plans," he says, waving at the Christmas decorations. Had he missed Christmas? It wouldn't be the first time he hulked out for several days.

"No, no, it's not that." Her smile is brittle now. It doesn't suit her at all.

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't want to bother you."

"You? Bother me? You just saved me from wandering half-naked across the English countryside in the middle of winter. I think you're entitled to bother me all you want." She hesitates, her gaze shifting from his face to her feet to the village further down the road. "Please?"

"I _can't_ take a step closer. I was cursed and can't approach humans or human dwellings."

Bruce furrows his brow.

" _I'm_ human."

"No, you're not," she laughs off.

Well, that's news to him. Despite his alter-ego, he'd still considered himself human. He was born human after all.

"What happens if you do?"

"It's painful."

She grimaces so he doesn't insist, but asks her story all the same. His stomach can wait. The fairy queen makes a sofa appear on the muddy side of the road. It's so incongruous, he can't help smiling at the sight of the purple monstrosity. He takes a seat next to her and has to admit it's quite comfortable while she tells her tale.

Once upon a time, there was a curious girl who liked magical creatures so much, she traveled across the world to befriend them all. In so doing, she found an evil witch who hunted them down and cut them in pieces to make her dark potions. The girl denounced her and lead the kingdom's guards to her lair. Put in chains, the evil witch used the last of her powers to throw a curse at her in revenge.

"Since you like your little critters so much," she cackled. "They will be your only company forevermore."

"So when I saw you falling nearby, I thought you were the Leprechaun King and might be able to break the curse," she finishes, tapping a gaudy necklace around her neck.

"Sorry," Bruce says, then points at the piece of jewelry. "Is that the curse?"

Luna nods.

"I tried everything I could think off to take it off. I even asked a dragon to breath on it, but it only singed my eyebrows off. Basilisk venom might have worked, but I can't access the carcass of the last one that was slain."

The Hulk growls, whether because he takes this as a challenge or because he truly wants to help, Bruce isn't sure, but he's not going to stop him. Not this time.

"Mind if I try? I'm going to shift into... the green thing. Try not to scream? He hates it when people scream at him."

Before she can answer, Hulk is already taking over and he loses himself to the rage.

"Little Fairy," Hulk grunts.

"Big Leprechaun," Luna says and curtsies.

Banner is an imbecile. She has no fear in her at all in her. He points at the tiny bauble around her slender neck, then at his index. His fingers are too big to handle the cursed thing himself. She understands him though and lays the necklace as far as she can, her face pressed against the side of his index without the slightest hesitation.

"No move," he orders and brings his thumb down, crushing the evil thing into fine dust.

Hulk pulls his fingers apart to free her of the remnants of the necklace's chain. He then wipes them on his newly shredded pants, smiling at the thought of how annoyed Banner was going to be at finding himself naked again.

"Good Fairy," he says and pats her head as softly as he can. "Pretty Fairy."

He lets Banner take over. He did more than enough for the ungrateful twerp

Bruce shivers and blushes simultaneously when he comes back to himself. He can _feel_ the Other Guy laughing at him, but okay, he deserved that. He should have thought of undressing first before transforming. Thankfully, Luna make his clothes reappear again. Just for that, he should make sure to keep her around.

"How about that coffee now?"

She's more than happy to tag along and he's fascinated by the way she walks. It's as if she's dancing to her own tune. It's very subtle, but draws every eye in the vicinity, causing the Hulk to growl protectively.

"Of course I won't let anything happen to her. Calm down."

But something does. They're on their second order of tea and cakes (because their coffee was too atrocious to be ordered a second time) when a man appears out of nowhere. He looks like he rolled out of bed with his dark hair sticking out every which way, and even his glasses are askew."

"Hello Harry," Luna chirps happily.

The other man sputters for a few minutes while Luna explains to him he's a dear friend, that they went to school together and that he's full of Nargles. At this point, Bruce just rolls with it and invites him to sit down with them now that he's ruined his date.

"We thought you were dead! You disappeared. I looked _everywhere_ for you!"

"It was a curse. I'm all better now though, don't worry. The Leprechaun King saved me."

Harry's brow furrows.

"Who?"

"That'll be me," Bruce says, offering his hand to shake. "But you can call me Bruce. Leprechaun King is a bit of a mouthful."

The handshake is limp. It's probably shock.

"Okay. Listen Luna, I'm sorry to ask, but I left the party as soon as I got a hit on your location. Ginny and the kids are probably worried sick I just up and left without an explanation. Would you mind coming back with me? I'm not letting you out of my sight again. Not today."

"What's today?" he and Luna ask at the same time.

"Christmas," he sounds outraged they didn't know. "Please? You'll be the best present there. Everyone's missed you."

Luna looks at him and he thinks this is it, this is where they part ways, but she grabs his hand instead, holding it tight.

"Can I bring Bruce?"

"Erm… yeah, of course. Why not? I'm sure everyone will be curious to meet a dark haired, six feet tall leprechaun. The more, the merrier, right? Meet me at Grimmauld Place?"

Luna nods and Harry disappears. No one in the pub seems to notice all the insanity happening right under their noses. Maybe he's still dreaming after all, stuck at the bottom of the his crater.

"What's he then?" he asks, because as much fun as it was to confuse the disheveled man, his curiosity is killing him.

"A wizard."

"Oh, right. Never met one before."

"I'll introduce you to plenty more if you want. And there will be a half giant there too I'd wager. Werewolves, a metamorphmagus, half-veelas - but don't get too close to them."

"What about Santa?" Bruce asks, because he'd been pretty sure a few days ago he didn't exist, but now…

"Santa is too busy this time of year, silly. But you'll enjoy the party. There's always lots of food, enchanted music instruments, and dancing too! Do you like to dance?"

Bruce does not, he has two left feet most of the time and music only seems to confuse them more. But he's willing to try with Luna.

"There's always mistletoe, too," she adds with too much nonchalance.

"Mistletoe?"

Do fairies and wizards use mistletoe like normal people? Her dreamy smile and mischievous eyes tells him it is.

"At every door," she confirms. "And there are a lot of doors where we're going, so you better not leave my side."

Bruce can already tell this is his best Christmas to date. Even the Hulk, who has always hated it, grunts in approval. Maybe they have finally found their place in the world.


	29. A Helping Hand

**A Helping Hand**

 **Rating: T**

 **Pairing: Shuri/Hermione**

 **Summary: Following a bad injury, Hermione goes to the best for a new prosphetic that can handle magic.**

Hermione looked up at the building and double checked the address on the piece of paper Captain America had scribbled on. Wakandan International Outreach Centre, the building said. It didn't ring a bell, but between the Avengers, Fantastic Four, X-Men and the plethora of other groups sprouting from the American soil like weeds in the last few years, It wasn't all that surprising if even she couldn't keep up. She had been busy enough giving a hand, quite literally, integrating the wizarding world to that hotpot of trouble.

Looking down at her stump, she resolved to give this place a try. Everything else had failed. Muggle or charmed prosthetics, nothing allowed her to hold her wand and cast correctly. She made do with her left hand but found herself diminished. So when she met the Captain and he told her, very tactfully, about his friend Bucky and the Wakandan prosthetics that had done wonders for him, she had jumped on the occasion.

She walked in, marvelling at the modern, yet tasteful hall. It had an old-fashioned quality to it too, but couldn't quite put her -aha- finger on it. She blamed George for all her self-inflicted bad puns though.

When she asked to see Shuri at the welcome desk, the secretary's eyebrows rose and she looked about to tell her to bugger off.

"Captain America sent me here."

She reluctantly handed over what she could only call a letter of recommendation. She hated it, pulling strings when she already felt pathetic enough, but she was desperate. The secretary read the letter and nodded.

"Right this way, please. Shuri is the Head of the Science and Information Exchange and thus, quite busy. I hope you'll excuse my rudeness."

Rudeness? She was the rude one for showing up uninvited and demanding to see someone important. Somehow, she had thought she would be seeing a lab technician or something. This Shuri sounded more like someone along the lines of Tony Stark. After a few corridors, the secretary saluted her in a strange way, then left her to fend for herself.

"Aya? I told you no interruptions! If my brother managed to puncture his suit again by scratching his butt, he can just slap a bandaid on it!"

"I can come back later," Hermione offered.

A head popped out from behind a large machine with hair as crazy as her own although half of it was carefully braided back with colourful beads. She was young too, maybe even younger than she was. Not at all the Stark doppelganger she had been expecting. Shuri looked her up and down, pausing at her missing appendage.

"The White Wolf sent you?"

"No. Captain America. He thought you could help…" She waved her phantom hand uncertainly. "But I can come back when you are less busy."

The young woman waved off her concern and held her arm up for closer inspection.

"Pretty straight forward. Clean cut. How did it happen?"

"A slicing hex," she sighed. "By the time the battle had ended, it was too late to reattach it."

"Oh! You're a witch? I've been meaning to meet one of your people to test your magic against our technology!"

"Erm… I guess I can volunteer if you can fix my hand. I haven't been able to cast properly since I lost it."

Shuri clapped her hands.

"Yes, yes! That will be easy!" She tapped one of the larger beads dangling near her cheek. "Aya, clear everything on my schedule and don't bother me."

Shuri pulled her into a workshop full of tools and half assembled prototypes. It was a bit overwhelming, but Shuri put her at ease with her incessant babble and bubbly laughter while she worked. She was fascinating, a genius in her field, so when the night crept up on them, Hermione tried to beg off, because surely, she had better things to do.

"Dinner!" Shuri countered. "Will you eat with me? The others tend to be a bit stuck up around me."

Hermione could only agree, knowing all too well how it was to be treated like a swoty know-it-all, so she agreed easily. It would have been impossible to resist those pleading puppy eyes anyway, and she was such good company she was glad to know she might feel the same. It had been too long since she had managed to make a friend. Too much fame, fear or contempt gave people a warped image of Hermione Granger, and she found herself quite alone.

They learned more about each other during dinner when Hermione started putting clues together.

"Wait, wait, wait. When you say you're fed up of being treated like a princess, you mean that quite literally, don't you?"

"Of course," she laughed. "Did you not know?"

Hermione let her head fall in her hands, shaking it emphatically.

"I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't create a diplomatic incident or something. Shouldn't you have… I don't know, a crown or bodyguards or something."

Shuri laughed some more.

"Or a name tag? I doubt I have much in common with the princesses of your country. I'd like it if you kept treating me like a friend."

The puppy dog eyes were back and Hermione could only nod, even if she was a bit more guarded during the rest of the night.

She returned the next day to the Wakandan building, Aya leading her to the lab without a word.

She immediately noted Shuri was wearing the same clothes as the previous day, with her hair in disarray.

"Shuri? Did you not sleep after I left?"

Shuri grinned widely, a bit maniacally.

"No. I wanted to finished this. I'm pretty proud of it, but you have to test it out first."

Hermione gasped at the sight of a hand made of woven metal, so intricate and beautiful it looked more like a sculpture belonging in a museum than a prosthetic. Shuri fitted it to her stump and it had none of the pain or discomfort she had experienced with the others. It gave off strange sensations too, as if the phantom hand had become solid once more. It had to be all those captors Shuri had talked about.

"So you can feel again. Hot, cold, even pain, the smallest of detail like wood grain or the softness of skin."

Shuri's fingers lingered against her new ones, making her blush because she really could feel the warmth and smoothness of her skin.

"It's wonderful," Hermione breathed out. "You're amazing Shuri. I don't know how to thank you."

Shuri scoffed but was smiling softly at her.

"Try your magic."

Heart beating fast, Hermione retrieved her wand from her left pocket, taking a deep breath before switching it to her proper hand. When she could feel the polished wood once more, she breathed more easily, then she felt the warmth of magic rushing through the wand in greeting and she knew it would work this time.

"May I?" Hermione asked, pointing at a lump of spare metal on the workbench.

Vibranium, Shuri called it. The same metal her hand was made of. Focusing, Hermione transfigured it into a model-sized dragon like the one Harry had had during the Triwizard Tournament, adding more of her magic to make it smarter and permanent before handing it to Shuri with a small bow of gratitude.

"You mentioned wanting to see dragons. Please accept this small token until I can fulfill that wish."

Shuri took it eagerly, laughing joyfully when it flew around her to land on her head. Then she jumped in her arms for a hug.

"Let's go now," Shuri said, then pressed her communication bead. "Aya, clear my planning. I'm going on an adventure."


	30. Starman

**Written for the Marvelously Magical February Roll-a-Drabble**  
 **My roll this time is Darcy/Sirius and songfic.**

"And you'll survey the readings?" Jane insisted while Darcy pushed her out of her lab for some much needed sleep.  
"Yes."  
"You won't fall asleep? You're sure? You do sleep a lot during this part of the experiment…"  
"No. I'll just drink coffee. It'll be fine, Jane. Go sleep before you keel over."  
"Call me if anything-"  
"Of course I will," Darcy said with an eye roll.  
It's not like she could make sense of Jane's math voodoo and twinkly machines anyway. If Darcy squinted really hard, she could pretend Jane's portable-rainbow-bridge was the world's wonkiest Christmas tree but that was about it. Besides, Jane wasn't the only one who wanted to see Thor again, albeit not for the same reasons. In fact, Darcy had affectionately named the machine the Portal of Thor, or POT for short, which Jane pretended to be annoyed by.  
However, thirty minutes in and coffee wasn't doing much for her. She played Hulk-Crush for a while on her phone but she was stuck on level 98 and getting quite frustrated with it.  
"You're not much company," she accused the portal which was blinking at her, red lights alternating with green, then she approached it, putting her head through the large circle of wires and metal.  
"Heimdal?"  
No answer, not that she expected one. This thing looked like a toy and all she could see through it was the opposite wall of the room. Maybe Jane had tipped over from genius into madness. Darcy doubted Thor could even fit his bulging muscles through the circle.  
Bored out of her mind, Darcy began cleaning up the mess around the lab and had piled up eleven empty coffee cups when she decided this would be a lot less tedious with some awesome music. She would still hear Jane's POT if it decided to actually do something, right?  
With a shrug, Darcy pulled her trusty ipod out of her pocket and plopped it down on the lab's speaker station before hitting play with one dramatic press of her index. Immediately, she began swaying to the familiar tune of the guitar. Closing her eyes she hummed along, finishing with the famous oh-oh before going full karaoke when the chorus swung around. Poor Bowie had to be rollin' around in his grave, but she couldn't care less. She frigging loved this song.

 _There's a starman waiting in the sky_  
 _He'd like to come and meet us_  
 _But he thinks he'd blow our minds_

Darcy stopped dead when the POT began flashing more lights than usual, and yeah, okay, it sorta looked like a rainbow now. Weirder yet was the echo she could hear coming from it.

 _There's a starman waiting in the sky_  
 _He's told us not to blow it_  
 _'Cause he knows it's all worthwhile_

Darcy paused the music, but the singing continued. So it wasn't an echo. It was coming from the portal.

 _I had to phone someone so I picked on you_

"Good idea, portal. I'm calling Jane."  
Darcy had her on speed dial and Jane picked up on the first ring, making her wonder if the mad scientist had even tried to sleep or if she had gone straight to scribbling in her notebooks for a way to bend physics to her will again.  
"Jane, yeah, you'd better come. I think your POT is singing."  
"My… Oh, you mean the Portable Einstein-Rosen Portal."  
"I'm not calling it the PERP. Just hurry over, will you? It's starting to look like a disco ball."  
The portal resumed the chorus and Darcy couldn't help humming along. POT had a nice voice. Nothing like Bowie's, but decidedly male, all deep and husky. She'd go weak in the knees if it wasn't a stupid machine. Without realising it, she was soon singing a strange duo with the voice and she could swear it was growing louder and louder.

If we can sparkle he may land tonight

Darcy chuckled at that because the portal really was sparkling by now, and she wondered if Thor would land tonight. That would make Jane's day. But she knew the Asgardian had no idea who Bowie was despite her best attempts to educate him.  
Did that mean someone else was coming through?  
Heart beating wildly, Darcy peered into the depths of the POT, eyes narrowed against the bright light as the song dwindled to the last la, la, la, la, la…  
A hand appeared out of the light, right in the middle of the portal. Darcy was relieved to see it was human and hesitated only a few seconds before taking it, wondering if she was supposed to shake it to introduce herself.  
Instead, it pulled at her and she had to brace herself not to be pulled within the POT.  
"Not cool, portal," she grumbled, pulling back.  
"What the hell are you doing, Darce?" Jane shrieked from behind her.  
"Fishing! What does it look like? Help me out! I think it's trying to kidnap me."  
Jane caught her around the waist and they both pulled together. Soon, an arm appeared, thankfully attached to the hand.  
"Is that Thor?" Jane called out from behind her.  
Darcy studied the limb, but if it was Thor's, he hadn't aged well.  
"Doubt it."  
"Maybe I should turn it off."  
"Wouldn't that… I don't know, cut the arm off?"  
Jane didn't answer, meaning she had known that but asked anyway. Darcy put her boots against the portal's edge and yanked as hard as she could, falling back against Jane, a heavy weight on her.  
A dark head of long curls and an old fashioned three piece suit was all she could see of her catch.  
"I think your portal goes to the past," she whispered at Jane, afraid of startling the stranger.  
"I'm going to call SHIELD. They'll know what to do with him," Jane muttered as she got back on her feet, evidently peeved it wasn't Thor.  
The man groaned and rolled around, blinking the prettiest set of grey eyes up at the off-white ceiling and buzzing neon light.  
"Where the bloody hell am I now?" he asked with one of those sexy British accents she always fell for.  
"A secret military base? You're gonna be in so much trouble, mister Starman," Darcy said, disentangling herself from him.  
The stranger turned to stare at her, then grinned mischievously.  
"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he purred. "And what is my siren and saviour's name, may I ask?"  
"Darcy," she replied, still a bit stunned by the turn of events.  
"Darcy," he repeated as if her name tasted sweet.  
He stood, then pulled her back up to her feet before taking her hand to press a kiss there. Maybe he was Asgardian after all. He certainly had their manners. "I am forever in your debt."  
"O-kay… But who the hell are you? And what were you doing in Jane's portal?"  
The Starman bowed.  
"Sirius, prankster extraordinair and marauder of the Veil." He looked back at the POT with its twinkly lights. "And your portal seemed like a fun exit. The landing certainly was," he added with a leer at her cleavage.  
Darcy laughed, not only at his cheek, but at his name, only half surprised he was named after a star. Starman indeed. 


	31. The Anomaly

There had to be something about the rundown bar on the outskirts of Hell's Kitchen that drew in broken souls. Every last one of them sitting at the bar was shrouded in their own bubble of solitude, their dark brooding pushing away any attempt at communication. That, and their noses in their drinks.

It wasn't the first time Harry came to visit the place. In fact, he would go so far as to call himself a regular. The last poor soul he had come to pick up here had OD'ed in the dirty bathroom. As far as exits went, that one had been pretty sad, and despite having witnessed more deaths than he could count now, he was still affected by their passing every time. He cared and felt sympathy for them, even without knowing a thing about them. The end of something was always a tragedy to him. He wondered if that's why Death had assigned him the reaping of the lost souls. To make sure that, at the end of their miserable lives, even if they had died a sad or lonely death, at least they would have someone who cared at their side. Death liked to play tough, but Harry knew he was a big softy under it all, which is the only reason why Harry still worked for him part-time when he had already payed off his debt for using his Hallows.

Harry found the soul he was looking for, nursing a beer with a far-away look in his eyes. Harry was betting on a simple heart attack for this one, so he stood nearby, waiting for his time. His soul was wavering already, teetering on the edge, making his human form blur around the edges. He held out his hand and the scythe appeared there. At first, Harry had protested the use of such a barbaric tool, but Death had nattered on about traditions and doing things right for a full hour before Harry gave up trying to argue the point.

A shudder ran through him, breaking his focus. Something terribly wrong had just walked into the bar and was standing right behind him. Harry wondered if that's how the souls he came to collect felt about him, but he knew with the certainty of a part-time reaper that it was not his time yet. So, slowly, Harry turned around and locked eyes with the stranger at his back. He was just a man, alive, technically, but his soul… dear God, his soul was a mess: broken, but not in pieces like a horcrux; both light and dark; with too many names, and too large to fit his body to boot. What, in Merlin's name had happened to him?

Harry belatedly realized the most striking thing about this James Buchanan Barnes: he could see him. Anyone could when he was _just_ Harry, but as a reaper, only the departing soul could. Speaking of…

"Just a moment, please," he told Barns before turning around to collect the new soul.

Heart failure. Poor man just finished his beer and passed away without anyone noticing. Even now as he freed the soul and gave him words of comfort and encouragement, no one in the bar had realized there was a dead man slumped against the counter. That done, Harry let go of the scythe and turned around to find Barnes still there. Good. He'd hate to go hunting after him, or worse, tell Death about him.

They sat in one of the sparse booths where Harry became just-Harry once more so he could order a beer.

"You're quite the anomaly," Harry told the stranger who squinted his blue eyes at him, as if trying to judge whether he was being mocked.

"You're telling me? What the fuck are _you_?"

"Didn't the scythe give me away? It usually does."

"You're not how I pictured the Grim Reaper," Barnes muttered. "Didn't think that was an actual thing."

"It is, but I'm not Him, just a part-timer. He gives me the difficult cases, which brings me back to you."

The other man went on the defensive, his left arm clicking ominously as he shifted it. "I'm not here for you. I'm off duty, but I am curious. I've never met a soul like yours and I've seen my fair share."

Barnes downed his whisky as if it was water, then ordered another which he fidgeted with for a while before speaking in a low, harsh whisper. .

"I was born in 1917, drafted in 1942. What they call Second World War now. Got captured, experimented on, don't even remember most of the last decades, only that I hope I never do…" He shrugged, his metal arm clicking once more as he settled down. "So… I'm even more of a mess than I thought, eh?"

"Not the worse case of soul damage I've seen," Harry replied, nose wrinkling in disgust at the thing Voldemort had become in the end. "But maybe seeing a soul healer would be a good idea."

Harry rummaged in his pockets until he found her card and handed it towards Barnes.

"This is a friend of mine. She specialises in alternative magics, souls in particular. When you reach this address, I know it will look like there's nothing there ut a grassy hilltop, so just say "nargle" when you get there and her tower will appear."

Barnes took the card, read it over and tucked it in one of his many, _many_ , pockets.

"If this is some kind of joke, I will find you and make you eat your scythe."

Harry grinned.

"I'd like you see you try," he replied and raised his beer. "Here's to your recovery."

Barnes reluctantly toasted and downed his second glass.

"Should've known the reaper would be a smarmy Brit."


	32. Band of Brothers

Turned out, there was a life after death and it began at Hel's gate. Regulus stood there, staring up at the tall, foreboding bars, undecided.

The guardian had told him he didn't have much of a choice but to move and had left the gate propped open for him m with an old mossy skull which was grinning at him. Regulus wasn't sure what, about the sight, disturbed him the most: the fans on that smile or the horns on top of its head.

Finally, Regulus opted for sitting on a nearby boulder, out of sight of the skull. If he went through the gate, he would never get to beg his brother's forgiveness, he would never be able to thank Kreacher properly and unburden him from the Horcrux, he would never get a chance to redeem himself.

Problem was, only way to do that was going back. And only way to do that wa as a ghost. But eternity as a ghost terrified him. Only thing that scared him more was spending that eternity in that inferi-jammed cave. He was counting on haunting his house-elf to get out of that one, they had a bond after all, but it was risky.

More selfishly, he regretted never having lived for himself. First he had been in his older brother's shadow, a "spare". Then, he'd had to take his place and that had been worse, unable to make his own choices. It went downhill still when he was marked a Death-Eater becoming the slave of a power-hungry madman. In the end, the only decision he had ever made for himself in an attempt to do some good in his life had gotten him killed. Regulus craved freedom even more than redemption, which made crossing this prison-like gate next to impossible.

"Why are you in the dog-house? Did the Guardian put you on time-out?"

Regulus looked at the tall man walking out of the gates of Hel as if he was going for a stroll. Never before had he seen such mischievous eyes and smile, and that was saying a lot given he'd grown up with Sirius.

"I'm… deliberating," Regulus explained.

"Death? It's a pretty straightforward process usually."

"For most people, yes, it probably is."

The stranger hesitated, feet still pointed away while his eyes lingered on him. After a moment, he turned around and sat next to him on his boulder.

"Tell me your story," the stranger ordered as if he had no doubt he would. .

And why not? Maybe speaking out his mind would help him make a decision, so Regulus poured his heart out, feeling lighter with every word. There was no judgement in his green eyes. On the contrary, they shone with understanding and anticipation as his own story wound to a gruesome end, dragged underwater by the living-dead, their claw-like fingers tearing at his flesh as his lungs filled with ice-cold water. Regulus shivered as his last moments on Earth flashed before his eyes.

"Brothers," his sympathetic ear concluded. "You and I have endured much the same, my friend. I was on my way to teach that boisterous oath a lesson in fact. Would you care to accompany me?"

Regulus' brows drew together in confusion.

"I'm dead," he reminded him. "Aren't you?"

"I am Loki, God of Asgard. I don't die so easily, my mortal friend."

Regulus tried not to gawk, because that was uncouth, which he most certainly was not, but he realized he had been gaping like a fish when Loki's finger gently closed it shut.

"You've heard of me," Loki concluded with a satisfied smile, like the cat that had gotten the canari.

"Of course I have! Sirius and I used to read books about you well into the night. He was a fan of your pranks while I admired your cunning. That you were, are, the best role model is the only thing we ever agreed on."

Loki's smile became, if possible, even wider and golden horns began sprouting from a helmet on his head he could have sworn had not been there before.

"Now I simply cannot leave you to this drab place," Loki declared, extending a hand for him to take.

"But…" Regulus waved a hand over himself. "I'm just a mortal. I'm… dead."

"Ah, but a magical one. My specialty. And let's just say, it's a good thing you did not pass those gates before I found you. As it is, your soul is fair game. And I want it."

Regulus smiled tentatively, the expression so disused, it felt wrong on his face. But it grew as he saw the approval in Loki's eyes and he didn't hesitate when he placed his hand in his.


	33. Out of the Cloak and into the Fire

**Summary:**

 **You need to peak into Nick Fury's Journal to understand how he ended up with Regulus Black.**

 **Notes:**

 **Written for the Marvelously Magical Roll-a-Drabble.**  
 **I can't believe I somehow rolled Nick Fury+Regulus Black+ the enemies to lovers trope! I mean, how ducking unlucky can you get?**  
 **But thanks to ANGSWIN and her pep talks, I finally wrapped it up!**

Day 1

Strange dumped a man out of his Cloak and buggered off. Not his problem, according to him. What am I supposed to do with the guy?

Day 5

Imprisoning the Cloak-man is mission impossible. He even escaped the Hulk cage. Sending him to my best interrogators.

Day 6

Have fired the interrogators and called in Black Widow.

Day 7

Man won't shut up.

Name: Regulus Arcturus Black (I shit you not)

Age: uncertain. Claims he was born in 1961. Either delusional or terrible at maths. Physically looks in his twenties.

Claims he comes from an alternate dimension and the Cloak is a gateway between worlds.

Oh, yeah, and he's a fucking wizard. Am returning him to Strange tomorrow. I fucking hate magic.

Day 8

Strange laughed in my face. Am aiming weapons of mass destruction at his ugly ass mansion.

Day 9

Maria has blocked my authorization to use all and any weapons. Am now walking around armed with a butter knife like some chump. I'll gouge the eyes out of the first one who laughs.

Day 12

Did the next best thing and hired Black to join SHIELD. He's an annoying freak. He'll fit right in.

Day 30

Black breezed through training. I turned that burden into an asset in only a month. Strange can go and fuck himself.

Day 51

Maria informed me Romanov and Barton have taken a shine to the wizard and are dragging him along to the Avengers tower. Black would be a good addition. He's an idealist according to his psy eval.

Day 124

SHIELD is rotten from within. I knew whoever was behind it would get rid of me as soon as possible, but I didn't expect the Winter Soldier to do it, and I didn't expect the Wizard to be the one to save me. Maybe magic ain't so bad after all. He left a fake corpse of me behind, and he seems to know every detail of my anatomy with disturbing accuracy.

Day 125

Captain America and Romanov are taking care of my pest problem. Black won't leave my side. I have no idea why I'm letting him, but we have work to do behind the scenes, maybe he'll come in handy.

Day 128

Maria and Black went to rescue Romanov and the Captain. The Winter Soldier is a bigger problem than I thought if even they can't put him down. Black was injured, the little imbecile, jumping into the line of fire to protect a civilian. The Avengers have a bad influence on him.

Day 129

Black was delirious with fever last night and wouldn't let go of my hand. I only let him because he was injured. I'm not a monster.

Day 130

There's magic healing spells. Of course there is. I asked Black what he couldn't do with magic and he had to think long and hard before answering "Food." That's all. That's his limit. Scary.

Day 131

The day has come to teach those cephalopod-fuckers a lesson. Black insisted, no surprise there, to be my sidekick. I thought making him masquerade as a woman would make him angry because he's so annoyingly cheerful, but it's made him flirty instead. What have I done?

Day 132

Success. Not that I doubted it for a minute, but digesting Pierce's betrayal will take me awhile. SHIELD is in shambles. What's left of us is going into hiding. Even Captain America and his flying friend are off to look for the Winter Soldier of all people. Bucky fucking Barnes. I'll believe it when I see it. So, since Black has been abandoned like the runt of the Avengers-litter he is, I decided to keep him.

Day 144

Hiding is easy when you can change just enough of your features not to be recognized. So, thanks to Regulus' handy little trick, we're progressing fast into sorting out the wheat from the chaff so to speak. I'm sending a couple of trustworthy agents to Coulson, but Hydra really sunk their claws deep into SHIELD.

Day 145

I refuse to go out with a full head of blond hair. I also confiscated The Wand. That way, neither of us is happy.

Day 146

Hydra found us. They're like cockroaches, crawling out of our walls when we least expect them. But Regulus grew himself at me and got us out of there in the blink of an eye. It's difficult not to be in awe of the guy.

Day 147

Regulus made me laugh. A real, full-belly laugh. Haven't done that in what feels like forever. Gotta hand it to the guy, if you're stuck in hiding with someone, you could do a lot worse than him.

Day 150

It's insane all the things that wizard can do. What's even more insane is that he makes me… happy, and yes, I realized how insane that sounds. I have no idea how he does it, it's just the little things I guess, but I have an inkling why it makes me feel that way. Urgh. Feelings. I'm not going to fight it, though. Maybe it's a mistake, but sometimes, you've gotta take a chance and I'm damn well going to take this one.


	34. Blindingly Obvious

**Harry Potter/Matt Murdoch**

 **Rating T**

 **Harry gets arrested while visiting New York. The best lawyer in Hell's Kitchen comes to his defense.**

"Mr… Potter, is it?"

Harry looked up at the man who had just walked into his interrogation room, if that's what this even was, because they were very different in the wizarding world, but looked a bit like the ones on the TV shows.

"I already told those other guys everything," he replied through gritted teeth.

Policemen here were blockheads, or Harry had just been unfortunate enough to be questioned by Crabbe and Goyle's reincarnations for an hour. Did they seriously have nothing better to do?

"I'm not with the NYPD,"the stranger answered.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here then?"

The other man smirked, although Harry couldn't really read his expression because of those red-tinted glasses he wore.

"My name is Matt Murdock. I'm a lawyer. I have an office right around the corner."

"I didn't ask for a lawyer."

"But you'll need one."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Harry replied sullenly, feeling like a twelve year old again.

"Depends which lens you're, ah, looking through, if you'll excuse the pun."

Harry frowned in confusion for a few seconds before he finally realized the man sitting in front of him wearing tinted glasses indoors was blind. Harry was glad for it only because it meant he couldn't see his dumbfounded expression right now at not having realized it sooner. Maybe Snape had been right all along and he _was_ a dunderhead.

"Right," Harry said, trying to sound casual.

"Three men in the hospital. That's quite… impressive."

Harry shrugged, recalled his lawyer couldn't see, and replied instead.

"Not really. They moved as fast as trolls, and shared about as much intelligence between them."

Murdock hummed in thought while Harry winced. The troll comment had slipped past his lips before he could bite back on it. Thankfully, they existed in muggle stories too, but he'd better watch himself before he broke the Statute of Secrecy.

"I just wanted to go out for a drink," Harry muttered. "I only had the one before those louts began harassing this lady, and I stepped in. What else was I supposed to do? Let them have their way with her? Because they would have. They weren't exactly being subtle about their intentions. So yeah, I might have been a bit heavy-handed, but I didn't know they were made of glass."

"They're pressing charges against you."

"They're the bullies! That lady should be pressing charges against them."

"Unfortunately, no one can find said witness."

"Of course not." Because why couldn't his life be simple just once in a while. "Okay, I'm listening."

His lawyer smiled and not in a good way. A shudder ran down his back and Harry got the ominous feeling he had just sold his soul to the devil. Then, instead of asking him questions or preparing a defense or whatever - Harry wasn't sure as he had never _had_ a lawyer before - the man just up and left.

Half an hour later, Harry was a free man as he walked out of the police precinct, more confused than when he'd been brought in.

"Now, let's talk about payment."

Harry shivered at the gravelly voice, but it was only his lawyer, looking all tame and innocent with his white cane and lopsided smile. Harry didn't buy it for a second. There was something not quite right with this man. Nothing obvious, so it was more of a gut feeling he had, and Harry had learned to trust his instinct in the past.

"Alright. Send me a bill and I'll pay you cash, okay?"

Murdock shook his head.

"I had another kind of payment in mind."

Harry's jaw dropped. Was his lawyer honestly trying to barter sexual favours out of him? Wasn't that… illegal?

"We should discuss it over coffee," Murdock said and Harry grimaced. "Some place private."

"Listen. I'm very grateful for your help, and you're quite good-looking, but-"

Murdock chuckled.

"You don't want to finish that sentence," he said.

"Oh." Harry blushed beet red at the misunderstanding, thankful once more the other man couldn't see his embarrassment. "I thought… But if it's not money or sex, what the bloody hell do you want from me?"

"Not here," Murdock reiterated and walked off, his cane tap-tapping on the sidewalk, fully expecting him to follow.

Harry hesitated. He always got himself into the worst possible situations and he wasn't sure yet if this was one of them. He could always run away if the payment in question turned out to be too weird for him. It's not like a blind guy in a suit could stop him.

Just as his lawyer had said earlier, his office was right around the corner, but it was nothing grand like he imagined all lawyer firms to be. In fact, it was rather cramped and dingy. Clean enough, he supposed, as he accepted the chair across the desk.

"So…" Harry said awkwardly, wanting to get this over with.

"You're… different," Murdock started, making Harry's hair stand on end. "Your kind, whatever you are, I don't really care. You stay out of the way of humans most of the time and disappear through cracks in reality. Problem is, one of you is causing trouble in Hell's Kitchen and a, uh, friend of mine has a vested interest in stopping him."

Damn. Somehow, Harry had done it and broken the Statute of Secrecy. He looked around, expecting a ministry owl, a howler, or a team of obliviators to pop up, but after a couple of minutes of absolutely nothing happening, Murdock cleared his throat, bringing him back to the present.

"I will neither confirm nor deny what you think you know," Harry said slowly, still expecting to be at the wrong end of a wand any second now. How did they know when the Statute of Secrecy was broken anyway? How the hell had he lived this far without knowing something so important? He wished he could ask Hermione right now. She would know, in excruciating detail, but he would take one of her lectures at this very moment over such a blatant display of ignorance.

"Will you help?" Murdock pressed.

"Who is this friend and what has this… uh, person-like-me done that is so terrible he must be stopped?"

Murdock nodded as if approving his questions, not that he answered the first.

"My friend will pick you up tonight."

"How will he find me?"

"He will," Murdoch assured and jeez, the Dumbledore crypticness was strong in this one. "The person he wants to stop has been selling some new drug around the neighbourhood. It makes them hyper aware and hyper active for a few hours. Unfortunately, it has also been killing the users, either because they are over-confident of their capacities, or because of heart failure."

Harry's mood darkened further at the news and he agreed to help immediately. It sounded like some idiot wizard was selling pepper-up potion to muggles. Whether he realized it was dangerous for them or not, they would have to decide when they found the culprit.

Harry bid the lawyer farewell, a bit surprised he didn't hesitate shaking his hand despite thinking he wasn't even human. All in all, it wasn't such a bad trade off and it certainly explained why their firm looked like it didn't have a cent to spare if they never took real money as payment.

Harry booked a random hotel for the night. Murdock had told him his friend would find him wherever he was, so Harry had to trust he would, despite _no one_ knowing where he was and him booking the room under a false name. It never ended well when he used his real name. Harry had found more fangirls and assassins under his bed that he cared to admit.

He had just turned on the telly to watch the news, hoping to hear about those Avengers and their shenanigans, when a knock sounded at his window. Thinking it was an owl, Harry was not prepared for the red, horned face staring back at him and he jumped back. The stranger's mouth twisted up in a smile. That part of his face was human at least, but it was also very familiar.

Opening the window, Harry stepped back and stared at the flamboyant red leather-clad figure entering his bland hotel room. His body's proportions, even the way he moved his head, his hands, and those lips, both pouty and mocking… There was no doubt about it, this man was his lawyer, Matt Murdock.

"You could have just said it was you," Harry huffed.

The man dressed as the devil cocked his head slightly to the left, and yeah, that was definitely him.

"What do you mean?"

Harry frowned at him.

"That it was you coming dressed up like… that. You said it was a friend. Why?"

"How- Is that one of your powers?" he asked in a tone so low, Harry strained to understand him.

"No? I mean, it's obvious it's you." Murdock stilled. "Isn't it?"

"No. No one has ever suspected before."

"But anyone can see your lips, and they're very-" Harry had been about to say kissable and stumbled on the word to finish with an awkward "unique" that the devil didn't seem to buy into.

"Plus, I just saw you, so…"

"My best friend never guessed," Murdock deadpanned.

"He must not be very observant then," Harry replied.

The devil hummed and Harry quickly changed the subject before it got any more awkward.

"So this drug-dealer, where did you last see him?"

"A dead end that veers off tenth Street for no apparent reason. It doesn't lead anywhere. No doors, just a few trash can."

Yep, that sounded like a wizarding gate to the muggle world alright, so he asked his not so blind lawyer to guide him there and boy did he move fast, pulling dangerous stunts to jumps over rooftops. Harry was having trouble following him and was panting heavily by the time he landed on the third. He doubted he could make it over a fourth. That last jump had been a narrow miss as it was.

"Hey! Hey, wait up!" Harry bellowed at the other man's back before he disappeared out of view. Harry bent double, trying to catch his breath when Murdock doubled back.

"Can't believe you accused me of not being human," Harry muttered. "You're not even out of breath!" he accused when he got a good look at him.

"I've had special training. I didn't think your kind was so weak. Is it because you're not in your natural environment?"

"What?"

"You know, like a fish out of water."

"I have no earthly idea what you're on about."

"Aren't you…" Murdock seemed to hesitate.

"What?" Harry snapped.

Murdock leaned closer to whisper in his ear.

"A demon?"

Harry froze in shock for a few seconds before he burst out laughing. Murdock was the one who looked annoyed now, his arms crossed over his chest and his lips poutier than ever before.

"No!" Harry said, wiping tears of mirth with the back of sleeve. "Whatever gave you that idea? Wait… Is that why you're dressed like that?"

"No! I'm Daredevil!" Harry shrugged, having never heard the name before. "The vigilante of Hell's Kitchen?"

"Oh, like those Avengers guys?" Harry asked.

He quite liked them. Flashy superheroes doing good in the world was a nice change. However, _Daredevil_ seemed annoyed by the comparison and only grumbled an unintelligible response.

"Wait a minute," Harry said with dawning realization. "If you're the vigilante of Hell's Kitchen, why didn't _you_ save that lady?"

Silence.

"You conned me, didn't you?" Harry accused. "I bet that ginger lady was your accomplice. She was way too pretty to be out on her own in that shady pub. Damnit. I _am_ an idiot. What about those louts? If I hurt some innocent people because of you, I swear by Merlin…"

"No, those were authentic," Murdock reassured him.

"Probably the only authentic thing about you," Harry muttered.

"What about this guy you're after? Was that true?"

The devil swore it was and Harry decided he sounded earnest enough.

"You're a greater good kind of guy, aren't you? Better lie to the idiot to get what you want out of him."

"In my defense, I thought you were a demon. I didn't think it was much of a sin to lie to a demon."

"Why a demon? I'm not the one walking around with horns on my head."

"You, and others like you, there's a fire inside you that burns brighter than normal humans, mutants or enhanced humans, so I thought…"

"Demons," Harry huffed, realizing he could _see_ magic in his kind but had misinterpreted what it meant. "Oh, alright, but don't lie to me again."

The horns bobbed up and down as the devil nodded.

After that, the entrance to the wizarding district was easily found and breached, but Harry found it more prudent to disillusion the devil at his side. He was a muggle after all, and Harry didn't need to broadcast how he was breaking the law. To his credit, Murdock remained quiet and only guided him by nudging him subtly through the streets until he found his target.

"That's him," he whispered in his ear.

The poor wizard looked nothing like a criminal. Too young, too shabby and too twitchy to last long in that line of business. Harry walked up to him and he guessed only the shock of seeing the face of the Boy-Who-Lived-Again stopped him from fleeing at first. Harry took the man's wand and Murdock held on to him while he cast privacy wards in the alley they had dragged him into.

"There. Now we can have a private chat just the three of us."

"You're Harry Potter!" the young wizard accused. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'll be the one asking questions, mate. Why are you selling pepper-up potions to the muggles?"

The wizard clenched his jaw, his lips drawing close in one thin line.

"You'd better talk. You know how I deal with dark wizards."

"I'm not!" he started sobbing. "I'm not a dark wizard! I'm just selling a little potions to the other side. They cost nothing here but they sell like hot buns over there. I'm not hurting no one! I just need money."

Harry sighed. He sounded truthful enough. He wasn't a bad sort, just a moron.

"Magical potions are harmful to muggles. Surely you've studied that at school?"

"I got expelled," the young man muttered. "Couldn't pay my tuition no more. I didn't mean to… Did someone get hurt?"

Harry looked towards Murdock' s disillusioned silhouette. It was his call how he wanted to handle this.

"Several," Murdock growled while not revealing some had died. Harry nodded. Their side would handle him then. "I'll take him to the aurors. He'll be arrested and sent to prison. It's a serious crime to hurt non magical people, even if it is out of sheer ignorance."

"Fine," Murdock growled. "I'll find my own way out."

"We're even, then?" Harry asked.

Harry didn't get an answer so he supposed Murdock had already left using his super stealth and speed. Turning around he tugged the young wizard behind him to the MACUSA.

"Ask for a lawyer before you tell them anything," Harry advised. "He might get you a reduced sentence for being an imbecile. Maybe you can shift some of that blame on the school for kicking you out for being poor."

Harry sighed as he handed him over to the authorities. This little adventure hadn't felt heroic at all and he was bummed out by the time he made it back to his hotel room, but at least he'd paid his debt, even if he had been conned into it.

The next morning, a knock at his door woke him up. He rolled out of bed, where he took cover, aiming his wand at the entrance. Not expecting anyone, he doubted it was a friendly visit. Hermione and Ron knew to send their patronus first.

"Come in!" he shouted after unlocking the door by magic from his hiding place.

The door opened, revealing Murdock in his "normal" suit. Now that he had seen him in both, he had to admit he preferred the other one as it hugged him in all the right places. The lawyer suit was alright, but a bit too bland for someone so exceptional.

"Morning," Murdock said as he stepped in with two styrofoam cups in one hand and his cane in the other.

Harry stood and threw on a shirt.

"You can drop the blind guy act, you know," Harry muttered, annoyed that he had had the wool pulled over his eyes not once, but twice by the same person.

Murdock handed him one of the steaming cups of coffee, then pulled that oh-shucks smile at him.

"I wish I could."

"Stop lying to me. I saw you," Harry said sharply, but stopped mid-rant when Murdock took off his red-tinted glasses to reveal his eyes, unfocused despite looking in his general direction.

If he was faking it, the guy deserved an Oscar. Harry waved a hand in front of his face, which made the other man chuckle humourlessly.

"You know, we can feel the air shift when people do that."

"Erm, right. Sorry. So you're really…"

"Blind. Yes."

"So how do you…"

"I see, but not with my eyes if that makes any sense."

"Not really," Harry said before badgering him with questions until he did. He found it fascinating. Matt, as he insisted he call him, was not at all like he expected from their previous encounters. He was actually a nice guy, smart, funny, and Merlin, those lips of his were mesmerising. Harry wasn't sure if Matt knew he was staring at them or not since he saw without seeing, but he couldn't help himself.

"You heart keeps skipping beats," Matt said suddenly. "Are you unwell?"

"No. I'm fine," Harry said quickly, feeling his face blush furiously.

"And your body heat is rising at an alarming speed."

Harry covered his face and tried to will his unruly body back under his control. Matt was _teasing_ him, the bloody wanker. He knew exactly why he was reacting this way.

"I'm fine," he repeated, now wishing he was wearing more clothes than just his shirt and boxers. "Why are you here by the way? I thought I'd paid off my debt?"

Matt paused for a bit at the abrupt change of subject but answered nonetheless.

"I owe you an apology." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I thought you were a demon, got you arrested and conned you into working for me."

Harry let Matt stew for a full minute.

"Well, you got me coffee this morning so I guess you're forgiven."

"That easy?"

"Yep. I don't like holding grudges. It's exhausting."

"Foggy thought you'd at least punch me in the face for what I put you through."

"Is that why you took off your glasses?" Harry asked in amusement. He had no doubt whatsoever that if he put the sorting hat on Matt's head, it would bellow "SLYTHERIN!" faster than it had for Malfoy.

"No. It's why I didn't put them back on."

Harry laughed so much at his admission, he didn't notice at first when Matt's fingers traced the scars on the back of his hand.

"Why are the words _I must not tell lies_ carved on the back of you hand?"

"Long story."

"I'm not in a hurry."

"Don't you have a job?"

"Foggy said that if by some miracle you _didn't_ punch me in the face, I should ask you out, so I took a day off."

"Because you thought I would be that hard to convince?"

"I didn't give the best first impression."

"No, you really didn't." Harry agreed, then caught Matt's wandering fingers and entwined them with his. "But everyone deserves a second chance."


	35. Grilled Avocado (at Law)

**Foggy/Hermione**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary : Foggy is being interrogated by two idiots looking for Daredevil when a tourists walks in.**

Foggy watches the two men keeping him prisoner out of the corner of his eye. He'd twist around for a better look, but he's all tied up like his Mom's Sunday roast and his body just doesn't twist that way. Not that he minds it too much. He'd rather be tied to this sturdy chair than dumped anywhere on this disgusting floor. This place is a _dump_ , and he means that in the worst possible way. It's a dump even by Hell's Kitchen's standards, and he knows he's not anywhere near his neighbourhood or Matt would have already found him and beaten the crap out of these idiots. Foggy pushes a broken bottle of vodka away with the tip of his shoe and swears that as soon as he gets out of here, he's going to make sure this public hazard of a building gets torn down before it falls on someone's head, and if there is already an injunction to demolish the place, God save the fool who wayled the proceeding because he is going to rain lawsuits that'll make hellfire feel like a tickle in comparison.

"What do you mean he's not talking? I heard him blabber his heart out all the way down the hall."

"Yeah, he's talkin' alright, but he ain't really sayin' anythin'." Foggy tsks when his interrogator tears at his hair again. At this rate he'll be bold before the night is out. " _You_ try it if you think you're so fuckin' smart. I can't no more. I'm gonna… I… I have to go. I need my triple frappuccino fudge creme. Now. Just this once. I won't be long."

"A what now? Didn't ya quit that shit a month ago?"

"Don't tell Doris or she'll kill me."

"It's the sugar that'll kill you!" his new interrogator shouts at the other's back, then turned to look at him through narrowed eyes.

Foggy put on his best "I'm-just-a-helpless-avocado" expression. He was a man of many talents after all, and he'd taken that one class in theatre in fourth grade. If he had to guess, the new guy wasn't buying it. He approached, crab-like, in his direction and flipped out a butterfly knife. Foggy tried not to laugh, he really did, so he talked instead.

"Fun fact: the chances of getting injured using a butterfly knife instead of a regular one increases by 400%"

"Oh, is that what you've been doin' then? Talkin' shit and stuff. Won't work on me, buddy." But Foggy, unlike his best-friend-who'd-better-get-his-ass-here-soon, isn't blind, and he can plainly see the guy is handling his knife with much more care than before, as if he just realised his goldfish is a shark. Amateur. "I think me pal has gotten too _lee-nee-ent_ on you. I'm gonna make you squeal."

"I'd be happy to answer any questions you have. No need for violence. I'm a pacifist. And I _love_ answering questions. It's like a vacation for us lawyers just answering questions. That's the easy part. Go on, then."

The blade pauses, inches from his nose, making Foggy go all cross-eyed. Butterfly-man pauses as if waiting for a trap to spring. When it doesn't, he clears his throat.

"Word is, you know how to summon the devil."

"Sure."

"Well? Spit it out, you dope."

"It's easy, really. First, you draw a pentagram, that's a star with five points, look it up, because the six pointed star summons whole wheat bagels and no one likes those, they'll just mold in the back of your pantry. Four candles for-"

"Shut up! Not the devil-devil! The other one. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen."

"You really need to be more specific. See, that's what I said. Answering is easy, but getting the questions just right, with no loopholes and no chance of misinterpretation, now that's where you really need to rub your two brain cells together."

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up and answer my fuckin' question!"

And now the spittle begins, which must be a new record. This guy has a short fuse compared to the last one. Foggy knows he shouldn't be having this much fun, but it's so _easy_ to rile them up _,_ and they can't even threaten him into talking because he _is_ talking. A lot. Avocados make the best hostages. It's their craft to use words against others in defense of… Well, himself in this case.

"He's just an urban legend. Don't know why you're dragging _me_ into this. Next you'll be asking me for Santa's address and how to cook the Easter Rabbit. I'm not a lawyer for the fairytale-inclined. Not much demand for that sort of thing, although I do represent this guy who dresses up as Spiderman, but it's not _actually_ him. Gets into loads of trouble though, that guy, swinging from balconies and stuff. People think he's a robber most of the time, but he's just one of those YouTube-"

"Shut your mouth!" Butterfly-man runs a hand through his hair. He's thinking so hard, poor thing, that Foggy an almost see the cogs grinding painfully under his thick skull. "We _know_ you know him. Saw you two talkin' together, all cosy like. I'd wager you even know who he is under the mask."

Foggy would be impressed by this moron's sudden insight if the blade wasn't getting too close for comfort. He's still counting on him being all talk with no backbone to actually draw blood. Time to switch things around and make him talk for a bit. What he wouldn't do to play for a little time.

 _Where the hell are you, Matt?_

"What do you want with him anyway?" Foggy asks with exaggerated curiosity. If he were Karen, he'd be batting his eyelashes too. "You've seen the stunts he pulls. You're not gonna take him down with your little toothpick there."

"Oh, we don't wanna take 'im down. We wanna make 'im work for us."

Foggy blinks up at him. Yeah, okay. He lost him there.

"And how do you achieve that? I mean, it's genius if you can, but I just don't see how."

Butterfly-man smiles. No dental in this line of business apparently.

"Everyone has someone they care about: a girl, kid, parents, even a friend will do in a tight spot. Can make anyone do anything to keep'em safe. Bet even the Devil does. Someone must have birthed that sonofabitch, right?"

Foggy scowls at him, because that might actually work on Matt. He doesn't have a lot of people he let get close to him, but those he does, he would do _anything_ to protect. If he finds them first, it's all fine, but if he doesn't, the way he's not finding him right now, then he'll think he doesn't have a choice. Foggy is trying to think of a way out of this situation for the both of them when there's a knock at the door and a lady's head pokes through the opening.

"Oh. Hi. Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. I'm just looking for a friend. You haven't seen him by any chance? Short, green eyes, messy black hair and round glasses. No?"

They both shake their heads in bewilderment. She really didn't belong in these parts. Not only because of her posh accent, but also because she seems much too nice and innocent for such a dark, disgusting place.

"Alright. Well, thanks anyway. Have fun."

Her head disappears, taking with it her wild mane of curly hair. Foggy meets his captor's eyes and they stare at each other for a moment.

"That was weird, right?" Foggy asks.

"Fuckin' weird alright."

"Ah, sorry again."

The strange lady is back, only she steps into the room this time and her former congenial expression is gone as she looks at them in turn.

"Just to make sure, this is consensual, right?"

"What? What the hell does that even mean?"

"Means we're both willing participants," Foggy says with a heartfelt sigh. "You know those people who go door to door selling dictionaries? You should consider investing."

The lady snorts. Score for Foggy Nelson!

"Get out of here, bitch!"

"Or what?" she says and Foggy is impressed because she doesn't look the least bit afraid, which he doesn't understand, because she's _tiny_ and doesn't have a weapon that he can see.

Maybe she has mace in her pocket. Yeah, that must be it. Still, stupidly brave of her.

"I'll make you," Butterfly-man growls and there he is flipping his damn knife again, but at her instead of him.

"Hey, just let her go, okay. She's obviously not from around here."

"Yeah. That's even better. No one will know to look for her."

"That has to be the worst pick-up line ever. Where did you find it? The handbook for lonely serial-killers?"

This time, it's Foggy who chuckles despite himself and his captor throws him a dirty look.

"Only, it didn't go so well for the last guy who threatened me. It was on my way here, actually. He threatened to gut me because I'd spilled his stupid frappuccino coffee or something. I can't say I'm enjoying my trip to New-York so far, and-"

The knife flashes forward. Looks like he had it in him after all. Foggy is struggling against the rope and cursing his heart out, but he stops when he realizes she's fine. The Butterfly-man on the other hand, is not. He's screaming in terror as blue flames creep up his arm and he drops his knife, backing away from her. Foggy's mouth is hanging open. He's seen some weird shit over the years but he doesn't think he'll ever get used to it, and this is new. She wiggles her fingers and the blue flames turn into ropes, coiling all around him while he's crying and begging and, Foggy is pretty sure, pissing himself.

"Let that be a lesson to you," she says, unmoved by the fact she turned a full grown thug into a sobbing puddle. It's all kinds of terrifying but the shiver of anticipation he feels when she looks at him has nothing to do with fear. "Well, shall I untie you? I have a feeling you don't belong here."

Foggy nods, not so eloquent all of a sudden, especially when his ropes just fall away. He stands and rubs his wrists trying to shake his body awake after having been tied down so long.

"Are you hurt?" she asks.

He shakes his head.

 _Damnit, Foggy, get a grip on yourself!_

"Thank you." Good. The words have returned. "You're not quite the rescuer I was expecting, but I can't say I'm disappointed."

 _Although Matt is going to get an earful when he next sees him._

She actually blushes. Wow. This is awesome. Pushing his luck, Foggy offers her his hand.

"I'm Foggy. Foggy Nelson. It's a pleasure to meet you…"

"Hermione. Granger."

She shakes his hand and it's a completely normal hand. He'd half expected it to be warm from the blue flames.

"Can I buy you a coffee? I'd love to show you the _nice_ parts of New York, so you're not left with a bad impression."

She hesitates. Fuck. Maybe he read her wrong. Never matter. It won't be his first rejection. He's practically a champion at it.

"I'd love to, but…" _There it is._ "I really am looking for my friend. He's always getting into trouble."

Foggy bobs his head in understanding. He'd almost forgotten why she had been here in the first place, but he completely understands how she feels.

"Can I help you look for him, then? I know the city pretty well."

"You want to? Don't you need to go to the police, or rest from the shock or something?" she asks with a dismissive wave at the bound man in the corner.

"Nah. This isn't my first kidnapping." Her eyebrows shoot up. "I have a friend who's always getting into trouble too," he explains.

Speaking of, Foggy goes to retrieve his bag they threw near the window and digs out his phone. Twenty calls. All from Matt. At least he _noticed_ he'd gone missing. Foggy calls him back immediately before he burns the city down and checks out the window for an address. Wouldn't you know it? Just outside of Hell's Kitchen.

"Foggy! Where are you?"

It's his growly voice so he must be in his devil suit. Foggy gives him the address and hangs up.

"Are you a policeman?" Hermione asks.

"Oh no. I'm a lawyer. I was just checking in with a friend. He'll be here soon and I'm sure he'll be able to help find this friend of yours too. _Then,_ I can thank you properly and offer you coffee?"

She laughs.

"Persistent. I like it. And yes, I'd love to."

Foggy grins back, his heart beating a mile a second. He is probably in over his head, but he can't wait to see how a date with a woman this formidable turns out.

"Foggy."

He jumps out of his skin at the sound of Matt's devil voice right behind him. Hermione did too by the looks of her and she looks about ready to attack.

"Jesus Fucking Christ! I told you not to sneak up on me like that."

"And I told you not to blaspheme, so we're even. Who's this?"

Matt is tilting his head at his date-to-be, looking much too interested for his liking.

"This is Hermione. Hermione, this is my friend, Daredevil. I don't know where you've been, but _she_ rescued me from _that guy._ " He points at the bound man. "Who was looking for _you_ , by the way, so you owe me."

"Really?" Matt drawls.

"Yep," Foggy nods his head for emphasis. "Hermione is looking for her friend, so if you could help us locate him, that'd be great."

"Well, I don't know how many Hermione there are in New York right now, but there's an idiot shouting that name in the middle of my city as we speak. He's British by the sound of it, and he's… different."

"That's him!" Hermione chirps. "Has to be. Can I just go scold him real quick? Then we can go to dinner. You must be starving."

The night just keeps on getting better and better. Matt gives him a discreet thumbs up, then goes to pick up Butterfly-man and waves them goodbye before somehow disappearing into non-existent shadows. Matt has _got_ to teach him how to do that. Dead useful. Foggy turns towards Hermione and offers her his arm, before they walk out. It's like they didn't meet in the worst way possible.


	36. Meeting of the Minds

**Bruce/Luna**

 **Rating:G**

 **Summary: Bruce always thought nothing could stop the Hulk, until he crashes through a witch's apothecary.**

Bruce didn't really pay attention to public safety messages. After all, if an army of aliens couldn't kill him, what did he care about bad sushis, mutant rats in the subway or toxic fumes over the city. The Hulk was, as far as knew, indestructible. He didn't heed the warning signs, the people running the other way screaming at him. It elicited, at the best, mild curiosity on his part.

Some people thought he was simply too caught up in his own thoughts, but truth was, he simply didn't care. If he was in danger, the Hulk would simply take over and deal with it. The two of them were getting along a little better since he came to that realization. Still, the Hulk referred to him as the whimp, or the idiot, depending on his mood, and yet, as he stood half naked in the rubble, taking in the damage his alter-ego had just done, the chemical fumes and broken flasks around him, right in the centre of London, Bruce couldn't help the heartfelt: "You idiot." to drop from his lips, right before he fell into a deep sleep.

Luna didn't know what hit her potions lab. One minute she was brewing a nargle repellent and the next, a giant green _something_ had smashed right through her apothecary, collapsing half the building and breaking most of her stock. She wondered briefly if it had been a giant nargle before she succumbed to the fumes of her potions.

Luna wandered aimlessly around what she knew to be a dream, but she grew bored, so upon finding a door, she didn't hesitate to open it.

"Hello," she said to the man on the other side.

He was writing on a whiteboard with some kind of magic pen, but whirled around upon hearing her voice, eyes gleaming bright green for an instant.

"Hello?" he replied uncertainly, then scratched his head before asking: "Are you real?"

"Of course I am, silly," Luna laughed, offering her hand so he would know she was as real as a crumple-horned snorkack. "I'm Luna Lovegood. It's a pleasure to meet you. I was getting bored."

"Erm, yeah, me too. I mean," he corrected himself, shaking her hand. "I'm Bruce. Do you know what the hell is going on? I've been trying to figure it out, but…"

He waved at his whiteboard, at all the pretty numbers arranged with no rhyme or reason that she could see. She liked the patterns though.

"Arithmancy won't help you. I'm afraid we're in a deep sleep."

"A coma, you mean?" Bruce asked, perplexed. "The Hulk can't be in a coma. It's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible," she argued.

Bruce was funny, if a bit stubborn. Probably a Gryffindor. Most of her friends were from that House, so she knew how to deal with them.

"And we're only sleeping. We just need to find a way out. I thought this door might be the exit," she explained as she pointed at the purple door. "But maybe that one is."

Bruce turned to look the other way at a green door, much larger than the purple one. He shook his head vehemently.

"No, no, no. Believe me you don't want to go through that door."

"Why not?"

Luna could swear she heard a deep rumble coming from the other side and her curiosity once more got the better of her. She really wanted to open it, hoping to find a heliopath behind it, or maybe a drumdigger.

"It's, ah, the Hulk," Bruce replied reluctantly.

Luna cooed in interest.

"He's… sort of me, but not me… Uhm… He's what I turn into when I'm angry. He's big and green and scary. Believe me, you _don't_ want to meet him."

"Oh, I thought that was a giant nargle. So you're the one who smashed my shop?"

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. My insurance covers me against mythical creatures. But that explains why you're here, and him."

"It does?"

"Of course, you broke and mixed all my stock of sleeping potions and daydreaming drafts amongst other things. I can't imagine how intoxicated we currently are. Just the fumes was bad enough but personally, I was covered in the stuff. In fact, I'd say we're very lucky to be alive."

Bruce stared at the strange woman speaking so matter of factly about narrowly escaping death and being in a strange, shared dream-coma, if she really was real, which he still wasn't convinced of, because she was much too pretty and calm in his opinion.

"So we have to wait for our bodies to process the chemicals and we'll wake?"

"Oh, no. That's going to take forever, and I have a shop to repair. The quickest way, since both our consciouses are awake, is to wake the third."

"I'd really rather not," Bruce said, but Luna already had her dainty hand on the green door's large handle, her other one held out for him to take.

Bruce sighed. If this was their best way out, he couldn't refuse her. If it was just him, maybe remaining asleep was for the best, safest for everyone, but he couldn't trap an innocent woman here with him and the Hulk for who knew how long…

Besides, he trusted his friends, Tony in particular, were doing their best to wake them from their coma, although they were probably out of their depth.

Setting his doubts aside, Bruce took her hand. She smiled at him and squeezed it gently before turning the handle.

"Oh, my," Luna exclaimed when she took in the Hulk in all its green glory, sleeping naked on his stomach and snoring loudly.

The fact she wasn't scared was as surprising as her interest in his alter ego and her wonder as she chatted about conservation of mass and transfiguration. When they woke, he was going to demand her phone number so they could talk more about what she thought of the Hulk. It's something he always avoided, but she seemed to have a unique opinion of the beast. Maybe she even had a solution to his little green problem. Maybe she had a potion for that.

"How do we wake him?" he asked.

"How do you usually wake him?" she countered.

"I get angry."

Which is when Bruce realised that for the first time in a long while, he was absolutely _not_ angry. Great.

"I can't. I'm just not."

"So what makes you angry?"

"General Ross. Loki. Poverty. Sickness. Loneliness. My father. Being me, or having to be him," he jutted his chin out at the sleeping Hulk. "Same thing really."

But it wasn't making him angry the way it used to. Not the way his life had gone off the rails. Not the way he'd been hunted or used, manipulated. Not the unfairness he saw, the injustice, the things he couldn't change. None of it made him angry now, just a bit sad and defeated. He told Luna as much.

"I suppose it makes sense if our green room-mate here is the embodiment of your anger that you would be out if touch with it. Let's see… How does the Hulk turn back into you then?"

"Exhaustion, or a real heavy hit. Like Mjolnir in the back of my head or falling from several thousand feet high."

And still, Luna took it all in stride with a mere twitch of her eyebrows.

"Right, in that case, a good intake of energy should do the trick. Step back, please. Behind me if you don't mind."

Luna had wanted an excuse to use this spell her whole life. Her mother had taught her to gather her magic in order to overpower any spell. Using it on an enervate was not what she had in mind when she imagined using it, but needs must. Meditating - whilst in a coma, the irony did not escape her- she gathered her magic to the tip of her hand. It took a while, or none at all since this shared mindscape was timeless, and cast the spell to wake the slumbering beast. It roared.

Bruce sat up suddenly, blinking against the light as he covered his aching ears, until he realized he was the one screaming.

Glancing around, he found Tony on the floor, his hand against his arc reactor, eyes wide. He didn't see Luna though. He was in a standard one bed hospital room, although everything had a SHIELD quality to it. He had guessed a much in his coma.

"Where's Luna?" he asked Tony urgently, ignoring his scratchy throat.

He feared he had made her up as a way to deal with the comma, to guide him out of it.

"Yes, hello to you too," Tony snarled. "Here you had me worried sick and sitting at your bedside for a whole week like the good wife I am and you're asking after another chick as soon as you wake up. Just so you know, I'm considering a divorce, and I will _demand_ to have your strangely indestructible pants."

"Tony," Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just need to know…"

That she's alright? That she's real?

"If you mean the hot blond witch, she's next door, and Natasha just texted me she's awake."

A witch? Well, that made sense of her nonsense he supposed. He swivelled his legs to the side of the bed and stood before he got too dizzy to even make it one step towards the door.

"Whoa there," Tony exclaimed, hurrying to support him. "What part of in a coma for a week did you _not_ understand?"

"I'm fine. I just need to see her."

"Fine… " Tony grumbled but he helped him walk out. "I hope I'm not this annoying when-"

"You are," Bruce cut him off. "Always."

Tony huffed as they stood in front of the room next door and knocked, then he smirked at him.

"You do realize you're about to meet the lady in a hospital gown?"

Bruce looked down but he was actually more covered than he usually found himself after de-hulking. Tony still looked smug though as he opened the door and added: "No back."

Too late now, Natasha and Luna watched them hobble in. He would just have to be careful no to flash them.

"Bruce!" Luna greeted him.

"Hello again, Luna. It worked, so… I just wanted to thank you and make sure you were alright."

"So you two really were sharing a coma," Natasha said, "Interesting."

"I'm fine. I was just telling Miss Natasha of our adventures although I don't think she believed me until now."

Natasha scowled, unhappy at being found out so easily. Bruce chuckled, relieved Luna was just the same as she had been in their minds. With a calm, dreamy air about her, but as sharp as a diamond beneath it all. He did wish they didn't have an audience though, but he swallowed his pride.

"I was wondering if you would like to… Erm… share our dinner platters tonight?"

Because he doubted they would be let out so soon, not after a magical coma. Tony snorted behind him while Natasha's face was politely blank.

"I'd love too. You can have my pudding."

Tony guffawed louder. Bruce was going to let the Hulk smash him next chance he got. In the meanwhile it was best to beat a hasty escape before Tony made an inappropriate comment, so he turned around and pulled him towards the door, freezing when he heard the ladies behind him giggle. Luna giggling was one thing, the Black Widow however… And then he remembered the hospital gown.

"I did warn you," Tony said.

But the embarrassment was still worth securing a date with the pretty witch he had met in his mind.


	37. Food for Thought

**Pansy/Sam**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary : Pansy only wants the free doughnuts and coffee. Sam only wants to help.**

Pansy had wandered into this place because it boasted free coffee and doughnuts. It had something to do with veterans of war, so she supposed she qualified on some level. Even if she was neither a soldier, nor a muggle, or even an American for that matter, she had been part of a war, no matter how reluctantly, and she was still reaping the consequences of being on the wrong side, cast out of her school, her home, the country that had seen her born. She was nothing now. A vagabond in a foreign country with a wand she couldn't use unless she wanted to get the local authorities on her back, and they were not kind to people like her.

So yeah, free coffee and food sounded like a good enough reason to mingle with the muggles. She knew she wasn't very good at blending in. A few years of living on the fringes of the muggle world did not make up for a whole pampered childhood sheltered in the pureblood society of the wizarding world. As a consequence, her answers to their questions were always a bit off, drawing raised eyebrows and even more questions until she felt compelled to flee. She had heard muggles didn't burn witches at the stake anymore, but she wouldn't bet her life on it.

Pansy sat at the very far corner of the room, nearest the table she coveted. The smell was enough to make her dizzy, but she didn't want to draw attention to herself. She had to wait for all these people to speak before she could reap the promised rewards apparently. They seemed to be a mixed bunch. Some, like her, appeared to be as poorly off with their baggy, frayed clothes and greasy, hacked off hair. Others, on the contrary, seemed well adjusted. She was curious how people with similar traumatic pasts could end up in such different situations. Maybe she still had a chance in life? Maybe not… Maybe it was too late for her, but the idea did compel her to listen.

Muggle wars sounded _brutal_ , but the scenes described were similar to one's she had seen that fateful night on the grounds of Hogwarts: fire and blood, the ground shaking under her feet and lifeless eyes staring up at her, her heart beating so hard it hurt, because every second could be her last… Pansy hadn't had time to flee like most of the other Slytherin students. Potter's supporters hadn't taken well her suggestion of delivering him to the Dark Lord when he commanded it in exchange for their lives, and they thought she needed to be taught a lesson. They hadn't even had the decency to use their wands on her, beating her with their fists and feet instead, as if she wasn't even worthy of magic. The marks they had left on her body had disappeared long ago, but the nightmares, the fear… They were her constant companions from that day on.

"Hey, you alright?"

Pansy flinched at the proximity of the masculine voice. She had let her guard down and had a moment of panic as she searched for an exit.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt you."

The man held his two hands up, but she knew you didn't need a weapon to inflict pain. His hands were large and strong. Balled into fist, they would hurt, could probably break bones… But at a second glance, she recognized him. He was the speaker for this gathering. Surprised, she looked around and realized everyone had left their seats already, leaving the room half empty while the others plundered the table behind her. Her mind must have wandered again. It wouldn't be the first time her memories took over while the world continued to move around her.

"I'm Sam. You're new here, right?"

Pansy nodded, but when he waited patiently, his eyes never leaving hers, she felt compelled to speak, her voice raspy from disuse.

"Pansy."

How her name sounded foreign to her own ears. She hadn't heard it for a few weeks now, but the last time she had had been nothing pleasant.

"It's nice to meet you Pansy," he said with a smile that would put a Veela's to shame.

He almost sounded like he meant it, not that she would trust him, or anyone else for that matter.

"What did you think of the meeting?"

She shrugged. It had been horrible. It had stirred all those terrible memories she had tried to bury deep inside her mind, sending her into a spiral of flashbacks that was going to make her night full of terrors. She made a note of filching a bottle or jar liquor as soon as possible to make it more bearable.

"I'm sure you've heard it a thousand times before, but it helps if you talk about it. It's what we're here for."

She gave him a sceptical look that made him chuckle

"Sorry, sorry. I'm not laughing at you. I've just never seen someone say so much with just their eyes. It's kind of amazing. Anyway, we have meetings Mondays through Fridays, so you're welcome to just sit and listen if that's what you need."

Pandy glanced longingly at the table emptying itself of sustenance with every passing second. Her stomach growled in protest and Sam arched an eyebrow.

"And you're welcome to help yourself to the snacks. Volunteers regularly bring something in, so there's always plenty to go around."

He finally stood and left. Pansy waited for a minute, just in case it was a trap, but he stayed well away on the other side of the room, speaking to another man, one of the well adjusted ones with more muscles than she'd ever seen on a single person. Not moving from her chair, her hand darted back, snatching a couple of doughnuts which she stashed in her bag. Another one she took her time nibbling at until she was thirsty enough to stand to serve herself some coffee. There was even cream. This place was heaven.

Pansy returned everyday to the afternoon meeting, always in the back row next to the table. Sam smiled at her every time he noticed her there, but he didn't push, for which she was glad because she didn't look forward to the day he realized she had no business being there and threw her out.

She did start to relax on the fourth day. The atmosphere may be tense and the experiences they shared heart wrenching, but she knew she was in a safe space. No one came in looking for trouble, just peace. How they found it by pouring their hearts out was still a mystery to her however.

Should she try? But her war was not their wars. Even if the Statute of Secrecy had fallen following the alien attack on New York when the witches and wizards of the city had crawled out of the woodwork to defend their homes, Pansy didn't think they could understand. After all, if she still found the muggles strange despite having spent years amongst them, how could the muggles possibly comprehend _her_? Because Statute of Secrecy or not, the wizarding world was just as air-tight as before, keeping their secrets close to their wards. She'd bet the cookies in her pockets that what the muggle world knew of the wizarding one could barely fill a shoe box.

The second week, Sam approached her again, walking as cautiously and slowly as if she were a hippogryph.

"I don't bite," she told him before he could sit.

He grinned at her.

"Hello, Pansy. You look better."

She did? Her eyes narrowed at him, wondering if he was making fun of her, but he looked like he meant it. She supposed she'd never had such a steady stream of food before which might have helped.

"I meant it," he added.

Her eyes grew in horror. Was he reading her mind? Sam sat back as far as he could, hands up.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

She nodded and kept her eyes on her cookie, tearing a piece of it between her fingers and putting it in her mouth, savouring every crumb, making it last whilst keeping her thoughts busy with the mindless task of chewing.

"Does it help coming here?"

Pansy stopped, considering his question. Aside from the food, did it help? The first night after coming here had been as bad as she'd feared. The next few days hadn't been all that good either but she'd drunk herself to sleep. But then… She'd realized she wasn't alone. Other people struggled just like she was. She was normal, in a way. She was sure even those who had won the war, Potter, Granger and all those redheads… They probably had the same nightmares and flashbacks, they probably flinched at loud sounds and kept their backs to the walls… Except they had a clean conscience. They didn't have to deal with all the regrets and loathing she had for herself.

"Some," she admitted. .

"That's good. It's a start, yeah?"

She looked at him, meeting his eyes for the first time. They were so… open, and honest. Urgh. He would have been sorted as a bleeding-heart Gryffindor she'd bet. And he was waiting for an answer she didn't have. Unless it was a rhetorical question?

"What if…" she coughed, trying to clear her rusty voice. "What if that's as good as it gets? If the start is already the end?"

Sam didn't answer immediately, for which she was glad. He was actually giving her question some consideration as he rubbed his chin.

"Personally, I don't think there's an end. There's always room for improvement, so to speak, not to become better, but to feel better with yourself. It's a slow road, but you could always talk about what's holding you down. Put it into words so it doesn't have as much hold over you."

That sounded like some nonsense the old Dumbledore had said at a feast. What was it again? Fear of the name… Fear of the name only increases the fear of the thing itself. That was it! Potter used to say too, if to memory served. She hadn't understood it at the time, but what if those two had been right in the end? Was she afraid of putting her memories into words? She had spent all this time, years, running from her past, refusing to confront it, only to be haunted by it at every turn. She was so tired of living this way. She wished he could help, but…

"I shouldn't be here," she confessed, and too bad for her supply of free food.

There was taking advantage of random strangers, she was okay with that, and then there was abusing the trust of Mr Nice Guy. Even she had her limits. And people thought she was a dark witch. It almost made her want to laugh hysterically, and bawl her eyes out at the same time.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't worry about it. I kinda guessed."

Pansy stared at him. _How?_ Did she have a scarlet letter of her shame cursed to her forehead?

"Your accent," Sam supplied. "British, right? It's alright. We're all brothers in arms. And sisters," he added hurriedly, wrenching a pathetic excuse of a smile out of her.

"I am. British. Or was…" She wondered how to best explain her predicament. If she was never setting foot here again, she wanted him to know why. "But what if we're not? Brothers in arm, I mean? What if I had been on the opposite side? The enemy. The bad guys."

Sam froze, his face shuttering close like it had never done before, and for someone as expressive as he was, it was like seeing him die before her very eyes. After a few minutes, he sighed, seemed resigned, but at least he was showing emotion again. For a moment there, she thought she'd broken him.

"Are you a friend of Bucky's?"

She shook her head.

"I don't know any Buckys."

Personally, she thought it was a stupid name. She wouldn't name her dog Bucky, not even if it sprouted antlers. Sam relaxed minutely.

"Good. One memory-addled assassin is more than enough, believe me. Just to be clear, you're not Hydra either, right?"

Again, she shook her head. Weren't those the villains who had tried to take over the world a few months back? The muggle world had been in a frenzy for a few days over that incident before some other scandal involving a naked lady took over. How the latter had taken precedence had baffled Pansy so much, the Daily Prophet appeared like a paragon of journalism in comparison.

"Good, good…" Sam said, smiling once more. Pansy didn't understand him at all, but to each their own demons she supposed. "Do your worse. I'm all ears."

Pansy scanned the room for eavesdroppers, surprised to find everyone had already left. Lingering tension left her shoulders and she sunk into her chair to make herself more comfortable. She was so tired.

"There was a war in my country." Upon seeing Sam's frown of confusion, she hurried to continue before he could ask. "A civil war, six years ago."

"Oh."

That was all he said, but it was enough for her to know he knew. Pretty well informed for an American muggle.

"I was on the losing side."

"But weren't you… Too young? I'm just guessing here, but you can't have been more than sixteen? Seventeen?"

"I'd just turned eighteen when the final battle took place. Already an adult in my world…"

Sam patted her hand which had been shredding the frayed edge of her coat. She stilled and took a deep breath, taking comfort and strength from the warm touch.

"But I was just a kid. We all were. I was stupid. I thought I knew better. I even thought we were in the right, that we were simply protecting our traditions. It's easy to have opinions when you're on the sidelines, spewing propaganda you've been fed since birth. It didn't seem like such a big deal at first, but then the war became too real too fast, and I make a mistake. I think that's where my whole life turned around. That single moment in time. I can't stop thinking about it. Not even when I sleep. It's been eating at me all this time… And maybe one day, there won't be enough of me left."

She looked up at him when he remained silent, startled to find his intense gaze on her. Free of judgement, for now, but if he knew… A shudder ran down her spine as she imagined his features contorting with disgust at what she'd done. Maybe he'd even approve of the way she'd been punished for it.

Pansy stood abruptly, her chair falling back, and she ran out of the room, the building, until she found the air she so desperately needed, breathing in greedy lungfuls. That was… What had they called it in the meetings? A panic attack? Appropriate. She fell back on her arse, trying to breathe in deeply, not caring what she looked like to the passers-by. She had stopped caring a long time ago. She was starting to feel better when a twig snapped being her, making her jump in fright where she sat.

Twisting around, she wasn't all that surprised to find Sam. That man was like a niffler with its gold and as persistent as a bad case of spattergroit. His expression, on the other hand, was hilarious, as if he couldn't believe he had made such a rookie mistake as stepping on a dead branch.

"Your stealth needs work," she said.

"May I?" he asked with a smile and a tilt of his head next to her.

She glanced around, finding she was on a stretch of grass between one road and the next. How in Merlin's name had she arrived there? And without getting run over too. No wonder people had been giving her strange looks.

"Be my guest."

They sat companionably for a while, even if she knew it wouldn't last. Sam _liked_ to talk. Worse, he liked making others talk.

"You've never talked about all this before, have you?"

Pansy snorted inelegantly.

"No one to talk to. The wizarding world doesn't have places like that," she said with a jerk of her chin at the building she had just ran out of. "It's too small. Everyone knows one another. No anonymity, you know. How did you know?"

"It's all bottled up inside," Sam replied with a vague gesture towards her chest. "I'm not surprised you're still struggling six years later."

"It's not just that," Pansy said, her voice so small she wasn't sure he would hear her. "It's never stopped. What I did… It's common knowledge. So… When my kind recognize me, I'm free game. No one is going to want to defend me after all. Not even the aurors, the magical police."

Sam shifted next to her but she didn't dare look at him. She watched the car roll by instead. Smelly machines, but practical she had to admit.

"I'm not sure I understand," he said flatly.

Pansy sighed. This conversation was making her feel like shite. Yet, a weight lifted off her shoulders with every new confession she added, because someone else knew now. She wasn't as alone with someone else sharing her burden.

"They curse me, most of the time. Nothing too dark. They wouldn't want to seem worse than me. If I'm very unlucky, they won't use their wands, but on the good days they'll only insult me. It's not. Too bad, I know, but it's never stopped. I'll never have peace. I know I don't deserve it, but I'm so tired of watching over my shoulder."

"That's...what? I… Jesus. I can't believe I just heard that."

Sam was pinching the bridge of his nose. She couldn't see his eyes but he didn't look to angry. Of course she hadn't shared the worse yet.

"What the hell did you did that they think you deserve such a punishment?"

Pansy bit her bottom lip. She'd been skirting around the issue since he came to talk to her what felt like hours ago.

"Can you promise you won't be angry?"

"I'm already angry," he muttered. "I doubt I'll be angry with you but… No promises I guess."

"Alright," she sighed. "I get it."

But it took her several tried before she managed to get it out. She told him how she had loudly proclaimed, in front of the whole light side, that they should give Potter, a scrawny kid at the time, to the murderous dark wizard outside laying siege to their school.

"And…" Sam prompted.

She blinked. What the heck did he mean by that?

"That's it! Don't you understand? I basically advocated human sacrifice, and of a kid, too."

"Weren't you a kid as well?"

"Well…" They had been in the same year technically. "My point stands."

"You were just scared." _Terrified._ "I bet half the people there were thinking the same."

Her eyebrows shot up. Really? Or was he just saying that to make her feel better?

"I don't think you understand. That kid, Potter, he was the savior of the wizarding world. In muggle history, he'd be Jesus. Guess who I am?"

"You're no Judas," Sam replied with a wry smile. "You just acted out in a moment of fear, and unfortunately, it happened in the worst possible place with the worst possible audience."

Pansy wondered about that. How many times had she wished she had just kept her mouth shut. How different her life would be. Even Draco didn't have it as bad as she did last she saw in the papers. Terrible reputation, sure. But he wasn't exiled. He got attacked now and then, but certainly not as much as she was and Granger, of all people, championed him while she had no one. The unfairness of it all soured her mood once more and she stared gloomily at the horizon.

"Would you gone through with it, given the opportunity?" Sam asked.

She tried to imagine it: handing a bound, wandless Potter to the Dark Lord. She could see it quite clearly, her snotty seventh year self, trembling in her socks as she pushed the Gryffindor in front of her like a shield, but then she snapped back to the present and recoiled at the very thought.

"Back then, maybe, to survive. But now, no. I couldn't. I guess I changed too much. My whole perception of the world has. I… grew."

If she kept it up, she might even make a passable Hufflepuff. She smiled of her own volition, and for the first time, it didn't feel wrong, or forced. She still didn't have much to be happy about, but the knowledge she had become a better person somewhere along the road, despite all the grief, hate and hurdles thrown her way, made her feel as light as a pygmy puff.

Sam face a self-satisfied nod of his head as if to acknowledge a job well done, then stood, offering her his hand to help her up. She accepted it after only a slight hesitation. Was it only last week she had been thinking she couldn't trust anyone? And yet, here she was, accepting help, speaking from her heart, and thinking hope might not be such a lie after all.


	38. Married in Translation

**Hermione/Steve**

 **Rating: G**

 **Summary: Steve and Hermione work well as a team. Turns out there's a reason for that.**

Hermione was usually one of the first responders during a crisis simply because she could teleport, or apparate, as she called it. Steve was usually the second responder because he had nothing better to do, so they teamed up very often, which led to a whole lot of ridiculous speculations in the papers. Steve ignored them, like all other gossip newspapers seemed to enjoy spreading nowadays. He wasn't even sure Hermione had seen any of them. From what he understood, her world had their own newspapers.

He still had a lot to learn about wizards and witches, but her kind was so used to secrecy, they didn't open up easily. Even having one of them join the Avengers a few months back hadn't helped much in that aspect, but Fury had told them recruiting one of the magical had been hard enough as it was and to not annoy her into leaving. He had said that with a pointed glare at Tony, but Steve took the advice to heart anyway. It would be a shame if she left, not only because her powers were very useful, but also because she was nice. Real nice, not the way most people pretended to be. She always went out of her way to help people too. Steve often felt like she was a kindred spirit, which might explain why they worked so well as a team.

"Any idea what this is about?" Steve asked as he stopped his motorbike by her side and got off.

"No idea. Someone signalled a disturbance in the air and thought it might be the Rainbow Bridge activating."

"In the middle of a street in the city?"

"Yeah, I thought that was unlikely as well, so I came to check it out. I can feel what they mean by disturbance though…"

She looked at him expectantly so Steve took another step forward before jumping back immediately.

"It's gotten worse then?" Hermione asked.

"It's freezing," he shivered. "I hate the cold. Where is it coming from?"

The witch shrugged.

"Ironman would be helpful right now. Where is he?" she asked.

"Washington. Something about a contract with the government."

He kneeled, noticing frost patterns just starting to decorate the dark tar covering the road. He pointed it out to Hermione who nodded in understanding.

"It's coming from above then."

She sighed then took out a whole broom from the pocket of her coat.

"I hate flying," she said, her eyes fixed up, trying to find whatever was causing this event.

"You'll be fine," he said, trying to cheer her up. "I'll walk the perimeter, try to figure out how large this phenomenon is."

"Good idea. Here," she said and tossed him a large chunk of chalk. "So we can see if it's growing. We might need to bring in the scientists if it's not magical in nature, and they'll be pissed off if we don't give them as much information as possible."

They shared a wry smile, having both been on the wrong end of Foster, Banner or even Stark's disapproval over their lack of scientific understanding. Hermione kicked of the ground and flew upwards, sometimes moving closer to the center before retreating suddenly, making her look like a drunk bee when she was so high up he could hardly distinguish her. Steve kept an eye on her while he traced the outline of a perfect sphere, about eight feet large, much smaller than he expected and not expanding at all. So weird.

Hermione was on her way back down when a pillar of blinding white light suddenly filled the cold spot. Steve blinked away the light from his eyes and searched the sky for Hermione, not surprised to find her falling since she'd been flying so close to the phenomenon. Taking a running start, he jumped up and caught her in his arms before she hit the hard concrete. Her broom landed on the handle and split clean in two though.

"You alright?" he asked her.

She rubbed her eyes, squinting up at him.

"Yes, thanks for catching me. What-"

She suddenly scrambled out of his arms and pointed her wand at the circle. The light had dissipated, leaving someone behind. Well, he was being generous by saying someone, but something seemed a bit rude since it was a living… thing. An alien? Probably an alien. Not a Chitauri though, thank goodness. If this one was here to invade them, he came a bit short handed though, so Steve took it upon himself to try talking to it in case it was friendly.

"Hello, and… erm, welcome to Earth?"

Steve frowned, pretty sure he had heard that line in a movie not so long ago, but he shook off the strange feeling and looked at what he thought was the alien's face. Its pincers moved after a few seconds, making strange clicking sounds he had no hope of understanding. On the bright side, he didn't seem menacing and ended his speech by bowing to them. Hermione exchanged a look with him before they decided to bow back, but the alien only began clicking again.

"I'll send for Thor," Steve said and informed Hill about what was going on.

"He's still off planet, but I'll ask Foster to send a message. Do your best, we'll be on stand-by if you need back-up," Hill said.

"We're on our own," Steve whispered back at Hermione, not wanting to seem rude to the alien who was still clicking away. What the heck could he be talking about for so long? It went on for five more minutes before he suddenly lifted a leg? an arm? and shot a beam of light at them. It didn't hurt, but Steve went on the defensive anyway and protected Hermione at his back. She seemed fine too, but he wasn't taking any chances.

The alien clicked at them some more.

"Stop it! I don't understand!" Steve exclaimed in frustration, and of course Thor chose that moment to appear.

"Captain! Lady Hermione!" he turned to look at their guest, made a clicking sound of his own, then beamed at them. "Congratulations! I had no idea you two had been engaged! I'm sorry I am late to your wedding, but I only just got your message. Where is everyone?"

"Uh…" Steve was at a loss for words, thinking he _must_ have misheard.

"What?" Hermione squeaked behind him.

Steve was both too dumbfounded and too terrified to turn around to look at her.

"There must be some kind of mistake," Steve told Thor. "We were just investigating a disturbance when this little guy appeared."

"He's a priest of the click-click-clack." Or that's what it sounded like to Steve. "He was invited to officiate a wedding at- Ah, yes, now I see there's been some mistake."

Thor clicked away at the alien priest, sounding like an angry pigeon. The aliens claws covered the pincers on its face and in another blinding pillar of light, it was gone.

"Did he just… bugger off?" Hermione asked.

"I'm afraid so, Lady Hermione, but he did apologise for the confusion and hopes you two will be very happy together nonetheless."

"What… What does he mean by that?"

Thor shifted uneasily on the spot.

"Unions officiated by priests of the click-click-clack are very sought after. They're non-refundable and non-dissoluble."

"I'm not sure I follow," Steve said.

"You're married," Thor deadpanned.

"Yes, I think we got that part," Hermione muttered. "Why can't we just get divorced?"

Steve's heart skipped a beat at the thought. He never thought he'd get married, sure, but he never imagined he would get divorced either.

"Well, see, those weddings are very sought after because if the couple presenting themselves to be wed are not true soul mates, they, uh, die in the process. So… congratulations?"

Steve, who had been avoiding meeting Hermione's eyes since learning they had been married against their will, finally looked at her. She seemed just as shocked as he was, but not as angry as he had feared, and the thought she was his soulmate, that such a thing even existed, he couldn't help but feel happy about it.

"Your hand," Steve said, noticing a glint on her ring finger.

Hermione turned her hand over to inspect it and gasped at the thin band of frost encircling her finger. She reached for his own hand to look at it and sure enough, he had the same marking on his finger.

" I…" she shook her head and coughed to clear her throat. Steve steeled himself for some kind of rejection. "I guess we could go on a date?"

Steve's face broke out in a smile.

"It would be my pleasure," he replied, offering his arm to… his wife. That was going to take some getting used to, but a renowned priest of the click-clack from outer space had just proved they were soulmates by failing to kill them, and Steve was more than happy to give it a try.


End file.
